


Midnight Shouts

by Melo_Mapo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - College/University, BAMF Stiles, Barbecue, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Kate Argent, Mixed Martial Arts, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Werewolves, realistic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is learning magic at the best college in the country, while unraveling the biology behind the supernatural: his dream come true… if only his neighbors weren't having sex in the middle of the night, every night! </p><p>College AU taking place at Cornell, in gorgeous Ithaca, NY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Laura and Derek didn't go back to Beacon Hills. However, Peter had a plan B and his bait worked on another alpha, whom he killed. He did bite Scott and transformed him, but got taken down by the rest of the dead alpha’s pack. They were unaware of Scott's existence, so Stiles, Scott and Deaton had to figure things out and fight supernatural trouble on their own, though John knew a lot earlier and helped too. The rest of the cast will appear as Stiles meets them in college. 
> 
> To keep the mystery going, I will only add tags as the story progresses. It's a light story, inspired by my *very* active neighbors, so no trigger warnings. Enjoy the fruit of my sleepless nights!

 ‘Aaaah, aAAh, hmmmm, aaAaAaAAAAh.’

Stiles wakes with a start and groans. _Fucking sons of bitches…_ His neighbors are at it again, and the thin walls of the flat do nothing to muffle their enthusiasm. For the fifth night this week. He pats around his nightstand for his phone, squinting against the bright light of the screen’s background. 1:15am. Yesterday, it was 2:24am. Stiles fails to really think of it as progress.

The sound keeps going and, if past data is to be extrapolated, it will take another 30 minutes or so before they hit climax. The girl’s voice is the loudest, but Stiles can hear low grunts too, which makes him thinks it’s a guy and a girl. He never even met his neighbors.

After banging a while on the wall, which is useless but relieves his anger a tad, Stiles lies back down. Hiding his head under the pillow, which doesn’t do much for the noise either, he tries to go back to sleep. His first class is at 8am and he decently can’t miss it. He already missed it last Tuesday after three nights of interrupted sleep. 36 minutes later the shouts devolve into giggles and conversation. Stiles falls back asleep composing the next note to slip under their door. He’s kept it polite so far, but it doesn’t keep him from dreaming of some well turned insults he could write there.

In the morning, he slips a tamed-down version under their door on his way to class. Not that the previous four notes did anything.

“ _Dear neighbors,_

_Have you ever heard of politeness? I guess it might be hard on top of your own moaning. You’ll find attached a bottle of honey, as your sore throat probably needs it after last night’s performance. You’ll also find a leaflet for Cornell’s choir. I’m sure they could do with some talented vocalists like you._

_With much sentiment,_

_Your neighbor in 405.”_

***

 

For the first time of the week, Stiles is _happy_. It’s 2pm on Thursday, he just woke up from a much needed nap, he’s eating curly fries from Jack’s Grill, the cool little burger joint near campus, and he’s headed for his favorite class: _Auras, and how to decrypt them_.

See, when his spark had manifested, albeit weakly, when he was 16, he had discovered a whole new world. Add to that his best buddy Scott becoming a werewolf after an ill-advised midnight walk on an active crime-scene, and Stiles had been hooked. And appalled at discovering that for all his cryptic one-liners, the local vet & emissary was actually not that knowledgeable about the science, and the _why_ behind the supernatural. One thing Deaton had told him though, is that several universities all over the world had well-hidden minors dedicated to learning about the supernatural and its arcane powers.

After digging in dark corners of the internet, Stiles had made his choice: Cornell not only had one of the best supernatural program for sparks _,_ it also happened to have a unique Biology & Society Major that fit right into what Stiles wanted to do with his life: become an expert of all thing supernatural, and understand how they work. Ever since Scott and him had have to figure things out on their own, and Scott’s new biology had proven awesome – if tricky around the full moon, Stiles had been driven by the idea that whatever werewolf-ness was, it might be possible to master it into a cure for what still killed regular humans. Like cancer. Or frontotemporal dementia.

The aura class is cool because it is the first hands-on class he’s been allowed to take. He’s a sophomore, but from a regular, human family, and his freshman year were only theoretical classes, prerequisites for the _really_ cool classes. The aura one teaches you how to know what kind of supernatural you have in front of you by reading them. And sparks are pretty good at it, though not as good as werewolves for whom the whole “using my werewolf eyes” makes it ultra easy. Stiles is a bit jealous but hey, he isn’t allergic to silver, aconite nor mountain ash. Being less powerful comes with perks.

“Today, we will apply what we have learnt in the past week to read your classmates’ auras. Am I right in assuming you didn’t share who you were much?”

The lady who teaches the class is an old school hippie. She wears bell-bottom jeans to class, her dreads almost reach the floor and she burns an inordinate amount of patchouli incense, which Stiles isn’t sure is actually conducive to reading auras as it fills the room with smoke. To any unaware passerby, they are a meditation class. For all her “cool, bro” attitude, she turns out to also be a very good teacher, a sharp judge of characters, and a spark herself, which makes it easier for Stiles to learn from her.

Turning to face the feisty redhead that sitting next to him, Stiles smiles:

“You’re Lydia, right?”

The girl nods primly. Why you would come to a class like that wearing pumps, a short dress and perfect makeup is beyond Stiles, who learnt to be practical in his clothing at all times somewhere around the third chase through the preserve, but she does look stunning, and Stiles finds himself slightly intimidated. Everybody knows Lydia, she is top of their promo and probably destined to great things.

“And you’re… Stiles.”

The pause is no hesitation, but rather a clear judgment of his name, and Stiles doesn’t roll his eyes only because he’s surprised she knows her name at all. They shared other subjects in first year, but never sat next to each other.

“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my real name.”

“Try me.”

Stiles is about to snark back when the teacher dims the lights, bringing back silence to the classroom. In the semi-darkness, the white of her eyes and teeth seem to shine in contrast with her skin.

“And now, my friends, time for some _meditation_.”

 

***

 

It’s 6pm on Thursday and Stiles is in a fool mood. The aura class was a disaster. Not because he had failed at reading auras: oh no, he had read every single student in the class perfectly fine. No, it had been a disaster because apparently he was so weak a spark that no one else could get a read on him. He pinged as perfectly human on everybody’s radar. Even their teacher had to squint quite a long time before confirming he was _something_ supernatural, though she had hesitated to call it spark at all. Stiles was seriously discouraged. Some humans from supernatural families take part in the special minor, but they can only take the classes related to pure knowledge. No doing magic for them, no learning arcane secrets on supernatural beings strengths and weaknesses. That he managed to read other people is a comfort, albeit a small one, as it is apparently a very basic power that “even some receptive humans” can develop.

Stiles moved across the country, far from his dad and best friend, in the hope of making their world better. And now he’s afraid he’s going to get kicked out of his favorite classes for being, well, just normal. After all they went through in high school, _just normal_ doesn’t seem fair anymore. He needs to do more, to _be_ more. Recognizing the mounting anger in him, Stiles decides to head for the gym. No need to go dark side quite yet. _What would Yoda say?_ muses Stiles, in one of those random thoughts ADD is still pushing through his head. _Your father, call you should_. With a sigh, Stiles obey his inner Yoda and calls his dad. He won’t say anything about being too human, but at least he can complain to him about his neighbors.

After a few rings, his dad answers the phone:

“Hey son, everything ok?”

Stiles can’t help smiling. His dad’s voice always is comforting, and he can hear the bustle of the station in the background.

“Everything ok, daddy-o. Well, when I say ‘ok’ I mean that I’ll probably be a zombie by the time Thanksgiving rolls around. See, my neighbors…”

Stiles doesn't tell him about the lack of magic. Not yet. He doesn't want pity, and he doesn't want to transfer back home barely a year after starting at Cornell. It's his first real applied magic class after all, and one teacher. Maybe his awesomeness is just too great to be appraised by squinting your eyes and reading auras… Plus, he's getting into some hefty student debt for this degree, and giving up without trying more would feel like too much of a failure. He's got a scholarship, but it doesn't cover it all, not with his dad's meager sheriff salary and bills leftover from his stint in Eichen House that one time he got possessed. Rent isn't cheap in Ithaca, especially when you elected not to live in a run-down apartment building in the middle of the woods - seriously, it looked like a vampire hideout. 

What Stiles does tell his dad, is about his neighbors and their refusal to acknowledge how noisy they are. His dad laughs a little, tell him he should find himself a nice girl or guy with whom to reciprocate - gross dad! - and then, more seriously, tells him he'll call in a few favors, and that next time he has trouble with his noisy neighbors he should ask for Laura Hale at the local precinct. 

The name sounds vaguely familiar to Stiles, but mostly he's happy his dad is finally giving him a clue: he's been strangely happy to have Stiles go to Cornell, rather than elsewhere on the East Coast, and Stiles knew that was because there was someone he knew locally. That the ‘someone’ in question is a local cop doesn't surprises Stiles much: it’s his number one theory. Laura Hale is probably some grizzled officer, an acquaintance from back at the academy. 

Stiles thanks his Dad and hangs up. He doesn’t have early classes tomorrow, and he longs for a bite to eat, a nice wank in the shower, and a full night of sleep. As luck would have it, his fridge is empty, the shower tepid, the wank not quite satisfactory, and, at 2:09am, Stiles startles awake as rapturous cries of pleasure pierce his eardrum from the flat next door.

 

***

 

It’s 2:11am and Stiles will not, absolutely, entirely, fucking NOT bear this shit one more night. With barely a glance at the time, he unlocks his phone and calls the police. He’s tried being nice, it didn’t work, and now it’s time to see if his dad’s contacts are any good.

“Ithaca’s Police Department, what can we do for you this morning?”

The guy who answers the voice has a nice, smooth voice, and sounds like he’s probably young and cute. There’s a hint of a joke at the ‘this morning’ that makes the guy somehow sexier to Stiles. Or maybe that’s the noise from across the wall influencing his libido.

“Hi. I’d like to file a domestic complaint for an on-going 514.”

Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s been in enough police trouble that he learns the local police codes everywhere he goes. In the heat of the moment, it can make the difference: police personnel will respond more readily to someone they perceive, even briefly, as one of ‘theirs’.

“Neighbors having a party?” asks the guy.

“Something like that…” says Stiles before putting his phone snug to the wall, where the sound will travel better. When he brings back the phone to his ear, the guy asks him:

“Sir, we’ll need to witness the noise in person for your complaint to go anywhere.” there’s nothing but professionalism in the voice, but Stiles can’t help but think the guy might be smiling, just a tad.

“I know. Honestly, I’ve tried talking to them and it hasn’t worked, so now I’m just hoping to give them a bit of scare so I can go actually sleep through the night. Now, - Stiles checks the time on his phone quickly – you still have about 20 minutes to get there in time for the grand finale, and I live downtown, 5 minutes away walking from the station.”

When the officer on the phone hums non-committedly, Stiles goes in for the kill:

“Look, my dad’s on the force too, I know better than bothering you guys if I had any other way. My dad mentioned a Laura Hale I should appeal to?”

“Really? And what’s your name, sir?”

There’s surprise and weariness in the guy’s voice, and Stiles fears mentioning Laura Hale wasn’t the right move after all.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski, officer.”

There’s a pause, then a shuffling of papers followed by mouse clicks and some typing.

“Mister Stilinski, I’m ready to file your complaint.”

Stiles is surprised by the immediate change in attitude but too relieved and pressed for time to question it. The officer presses on:

“I’m going to need your _real_ first name and address.”

“Let me spell that for you…”

 

***

 

It’s 2:26am and Stiles falls in love. He’s waiting by the door of the apartment building, because he never figured out the intercom system, and there’s the guy on the phone walking towards the door and he might be drooling. No, seriously, he’s lived around and with police officers all his life. _Uniforms are not a kink_. Stiles opens the door, nods to the guy, and lead the way to the elevator. _Were not a kink, maybe,_ he corrects as he glances back to the officer following him in the hallway. The guy isn’t taller than Stiles, might even be shorter if you take into account the police boots, but he’s larger and walks with the straight, easy strut of the people who are confident in their own strength. He’s attractive, with artful stubbles and light colored eyes, but there’s also something just a tad animal about him, about that coiled, poised power, that’s more attractive than the muscles or the face could ever be. Stiles presses the elevator button and the door slides open immediately since he took it downstairs.

“Floor number 4, right?” asks the guy, finger hovering by the buttons, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah. I’m 405, and the people causing problems are 404.”

“How long has it been going on?”

“Since the beginning of classes five days ago. I’m guessing they’re students who just moved in.”

“Five days ago and you’re already filling a complaint?” There’s no judgment, just some faint mirth and a trace of curiosity. Stiles snorts.

“Officer, they’ve woken me up _every single night,_ six days in a row. I don’t even know how they still have the energy to attend classes. I know I barely do.”

The guy nods a bit at that and his nostrils quiver faintly. If Stiles had not lived fused at the hip with Scott for his all life, and been privy to every minute change in behavior when he became a werewolf, he wouldn’t have recognized the tiny facial expression for what it is: a werewolf breathing him in to learn things from his smell. Stiles tempted to call the guy out on it, because _gross_ , and _personal_ and because he probably smells tired and medicated – he still takes Adderall as his ADD is giving no sign of ebbing away with adulthood.

Thankfully, they’re on the 4th floor and Stiles gets to escape the elevator, guiding the officer to door 404. Even just standing in the hallway, you can clearly tell people are having sex in the flat. It’s that loud, and the walls and doors are that crappy. With a last questioning look and a confirming nod from Stiles, the officer walks forward to the door and bangs on it.

“Police, please open the door.”

The sound doesn’t falter inside. Actually, it’s becoming louder, both the guy and girl now shouting quite loud. The officer gets ready to knock again but Stiles stop him with a light tap on the shoulder:

“Climax. They won’t hear you.”

And, indeed, a second later calm suddenly comes back, whatever noises they make now too quiet to be heard. The officer pounds on the door.

“Police, open the door.”

There’s noise from inside now, and after a short while, steps towards the door. The girl is the one who opens the door, and Stiles suddenly understands while they probably got away with making that much noise before: she’s the kind of sexy that’s intimidating _and_ debilitating. Men probably grovel at her feet after just one look. Stiles has never been so glad to be a very gay man, because even he can feel the raw sex appeal. Also, she’s wearing a red silk babydoll that’s obviously meant to be taken off rather than actually worn. Stiles glances at the officer, expecting him to be drooling already, but even if there’s a stiffness to him that clearly shows he’s not impervious to her charms, he’s also making a slightly disgusted face. Stiles breathes in and almost feels like laughing: if even he can smell the stench of sex rolling out the door, he can’t imagine how it is for a werewolf. The officer and the woman lock gaze, and he says:

“I trust you know what the problem is, here, Mrs…?”

The voice is even, but has a steely inflexion in it. A smile spreads on the woman’s face and Stiles _knows_ she’s going to try to wiggle her way out of it. Is she crazy?! They could hear us from down the hallway!

“Now, officer, I’m sure we could come to an amiable agreement.”

She hasn’t once glanced at Stiles, which, duh, offending, and he feels like maybe he’s missing something. Stiles glancing back and forth between the two people when, without a hint of warning, the officer flashes bright blue eyes at her and growls low in his throat. Stiles immediately drops back, flattening himself on the wall, because whatever’s going on, rule one of a fight with supernatural creatures is _don’t get involved_. From his slightly more secure position, Stiles squint at the lady, who’s know lounging in the door frame, one arm above her head, like she’s a model for a photo shoot, smiling a delighted, wicked smile, and still maintaining eye contact with the officer. It’s like she’s trying to up whatever sexy vibes she knows she emits and _of course, what an idiot I’ve been._ Stiles squints his eyes for a second, her aura confirming it, and he’s about to speak up when the door opens completely and, eyes flashing, wearing a bathrobe and beta-shifted, Jackson Whittemore appears.

“Jackson?!”

Jackson is a pillock, and a kanima turned werewolf thanks to the true love of one Lydia Martin, _and then he left her!!!_ That was all supernatural Ithaca talked about last year when it happened. The utter moron _left Lydia Martin_ , who’s a goddess all around and the best student in their minor, a terrifying and awe-inspiring mix of Hermione Granger and Imperator Furiosa, and also, from what her aura told Stiles, quite a powerful banshee.

Jackson’s answering sneer of “Stiles” momentarily distracts the lady and the officer from their glaring contest.

“I should have known, such uncivilized sex-making could only be the work of an asshole like you.”

“What I do with my nights is none of your concern, Stilinski.”

“Oh, but it is Whittemore, when you wake me up every fucking damn night with your grunts.”

Stiles can tell he’s about to replicate with something quite unpleasant, so he beats him to it.

“Only an idiot like you would fall prey to a succubus. Or what is an agreed upon part of the relationship that you were to feed your life force to your girlfriend?”

He can see by the worried glance Jackson throws her way that is was _definitely_ a fact she hadn’t mentioned.

“Maybe you should pay more attention in class, though I’ll concede we did learn how to read aura only a few hours ago. It’s not like your werewolf vision allowed you to do that already.”

Stiles is being a little bit unfair, because seeing the aura is not always enough to know what it means, and succubus auras are mostly black mist forming tantalizing body silhouettes. He’s almost feeling bad for Whittemore, who’s basically been sexually abused without knowing it, when the guy says:

“Well, I spent so much time failing to read anything in your aura, I guess I didn’t have time to read actual supernatural creatures.”

Stiles can see the second Whittemore realizes he’s gone too far. Really it’s comical, his eyes get slightly larger, and he tries to step back, but it’s too late, Stiles is on him, and he knows exactly where to hit.

 

***

 

It’s 2:34am, and Jackson Whittemore lies on the floor of his flat, knocked out, his bathrobe askew. A succubus in a babydoll and a werewolf in a police uniform are staring at him, one with a hint of fear, the other with begrudging respect.

  
***

 

Stiles turns to the succubus, who’s know kneeling next to Jackson, actual concern on her face. She looks a lot more like a regular person, now that she’s not exuding sex through every pore. Stiles takes a deep breath:

“I won’t press charges if he doesn’t. As for the noise, if you stay together, keep it before midnight on weekdays. As you can see – he gestures to the officer – I’m not above reporting you to the authorities. Now that I know what you are, I shall not hesitate to contact even more relevant authorities should the need arise. If you were not aware of it, note that succubus under the supernatural jurisdiction of the Finger Lakes are only allowed to feed every other day and with restraint, something we both know you’ve not been doing. Jacskon’s a werewolf, not immortal. Now, if you excuse me, I have class tomorrow and a lot of sleep to catch up on.”

Stiles steps around Jackson, walks through the door, and gently closes it behind him. Now, there’s only one more werewolf officer standing between him and his bed, though he does not know how to deal with him. Some of it must show on his face, because some of that mirth Stiles could hear over the phone comes back as a gentle tilt at the corner of his mouth. Stiles also distantly notes that the guy has a very nice mouth, pale pink lips with a neat cupid’s bow accentuated by the dark stubble. Stiles trying to think of something to say, when, to his surprise, the officer gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“You grew up fine, your dad must be proud.”

The werewolf lets go of his shoulder and starts heading out, and Stiles is left sputtering on his own doorstep. There’s a phone conversation sometime in the near future heading his dad’s way, Sheriff or not, but for now, he decides, bed it is.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stiles… I’m not sure we should be here.”

“Come on, Scotty, nothing exciting never happens in this town!”

“But there’s been a murder…”

“Yeah, exactly! A half body was found, probably male from what I overheard.”

Scott sighed deeply.

“You’re going to go anyway… I might as well go with you.”

 

+++

 

Maybe Scott had been right. Maybe looking for a half body in the Preserve at night when there was a potential animal or killer out there wasn’t Stiles greatest idea. There was something rustling in the underbrush and the flashlight didn’t reveal much more than a tiny circle of leaves and branches. Scott’s breathing was heavy, and Stiles thinks there was an asthma attack headed their way.

“Stiles… I dropped my inhaler…”

“Shit. I didn’t take your spare. Let’s go home, Scott. I think you were right about…”

There was a fast-moving shape going their way, shining red eyes, a scream, and Scott’s on the ground, unmoving, and Stiles tittered at the edge of a panic attack for a second, before reigning it in. He couldn’t let himself panic. Scott needed him.

“Come on buddy, breathe with me, let’s get you outta here, let’s get you safe, I’m sorry Scott, come on dude, breathe with me, breathe with me…”

 

+++

 

Scott’s asthma was gone. The bite mark was gone. Scott was stronger, faster, and getting increasingly restless. Controlling his anger had never been an issue with Scott. And whatever Melissa said, there was no way a coyote would be that big and leave a bite mark like that. Something was wrong. It was time for a second opinion from another expert. The only one that came to mind in quiet, boring Beacon Hills was Deaton, the vet. A vet ought to know about animal bite marks, no?

 

+++

 

“I think you did well coming to me, Stiles.”

In the 15 minutes he has been at Deaton’s clinic, Stiles has guessed that this guy cannot be a regular vet. Regular vets don’t have old-ass grimoires on their shelves, along with little vials filled with mysterious powders and liquids.

“Scott’s a werewolf.”

Deaton’s face showed a flicker of something, before regaining its neutrality. This guy could have given Yoda a run for his money, thought Stiles.

“Now, why would you say something like that, Stiles?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. He was 16, not stupid. He pointed to the calendar lying on Deaton’s neat desk. The approaching full moon had been lightly circled in pencil, with a question mark next to it.

“Doc, that’s too many coincidences: super strength, super healing, super senses, anger issues as the full moon is coming closer, all of it caused by a bite from an ‘animal’ that runs on two legs and was way bigger than a coyote? That’s the most plausible theory. Next one in line is aliens changing humans to make us into an army, though, if you’d rather confirm that.”

Deaton showed nothing more than a light quiver at the corner of his eyes, but Stiles knew from seeing it on many an adult face that he was resisting rising his eyes to the heavens and asking “why me?” That was also when Stiles knew he had guessed right.

“Man, _werewolves_?! That’s wicked. Are there other creatures out there? Does that mean humans are not the only sentient specie on Earth? Wait, are we bio-compatible with those other creatures? Does that mean humans are just a breed among a larger specie, like… we’re the lame Chihuahuas of the specie, and werewolves are the cool Huskies?”

This time, Deaton sighed a bit more visibly.

“Please sit down, Stiles. There’s a lot to explain.”


	3. Chapter 3

“… and you might not remember it, but that night those poor kids spent at the station, you also did, your mom… well, you know.”

It’s been more than a decade, and still his dad has trouble speaking about it, but yes, Stiles knows. When his mom was at the hospital and his dad on duty, he spent many a night at the station, sleeping on his dad’s office ratty couch or playing Pokemon on his PSP by the front desk. There wasn’t any money spare for baby-sitters after paying the hospital bills. He doesn’t remember that night in particular though, and wonders if Derek looked as stunning as a teenager.

“That’s… That’s terrible. And you’ve kept in touch all this time?”

“Yeah. See, I never could believe it truly was a faulty wire. Too much fire, too fast, too many casualties. I’ve always thought someone might be coming back for them. Serial killers targeting bloodlines, something like that. But since you tell me they’re werewolves, I think the culprits are obvious in retrospect.”

“Overzealous hunters?”

“Very likely, yes. Mountain ash to keep the wolves trapped. Taking advantage of a family reunion to wipe them all.”

“But… Some pack members must have been human! And the _kids_.”

Stiles feels nauseous just thinking about it. He’s seen his fair share of gruesome deaths, and fire is definitely up there in his top 3 most-horrible-deaths-ever.

“I know, son. I’m not saying they weren’t serial killers in the end. Making the motive clearer doesn’t take away from the horror of the act.”

There’s a pause after that, because everything on the subject has been said, but it’s hard to move on.

“So… How good-looking is Derek now?”

Stiles snorts at the brutal change of subject:

“Dad! Wait, does that mean he was a cute kid?”

“That’s a yes, I take it. Truth be told, he kinda had big ears. But all his family members were beautiful. Maybe that’s another werewolf trait.”

“Scott hasn’t gotten more handsome!”

“But he was bitten.”

“Hmmm… I wonder. Maybe one day I’ll have the actual scientific answer.”

“Is beauty entirely genetic though? God knows your mom and I are beautiful, and look how you turned out…”

“Dad! I’m a perfectly fine specimen, thank you very much. But to answer your question…”

 

After discussing genetics and beauty, and the potentiality for features attractive to humans being a sub-set of lycanthropy to give werewolves a better chance at diversifying the gene pool by procreating with humans, Stiles hangs up and gets to class. It’s his only class on Friday, and only meets once a week so Stiles hasn’t met the teachers and other students yet. He’s a bit apprehensive too, because it’s a defense class, and he lucked out on the genetic lottery by being one of the numerous, but easily killed, humans. True, he has a few tricks up his sleeve, what with his high school years going the way they went, and his Dad being on the force for longer than Stiles has been alive. But still. There’s a kitsune who controls electricity in his promo, and Jackson is probably looking forward to getting his revenge, now that he’s not getting sucked dry of his life energy every night.

 

“Hey Stiles, ready for it?”

“Not too scared for your life, I hope.”

Ethan stretches his muscular arms and Aiden pulls his shirt on to show off his abs. Stiles rolls his eyes. The twins are more bark than bite, though they like to brag about being able to fuse into one super-wolf during their beta shift. He’s actually looking forward to spar with them: last year they went to the gym together and they have a good friendship going, despite Ethan and Aiden being total bros. It helps that they’re quite nice to look at, in a purely objective way. The locker room is full of extremely good-looking supernatural creatures putting on gym clothes, and Stiles wonders if his Dad’s on to something. Trying not to let his thoughts stray – he knows at least werewolves can smell arousal – Stiles hurries on to the gymnasium. There’s a pile of bright blue pads in a corner, probably to practice falls, and a bucket full of wooden sticks. The class focuses on hand-to-hand combat, which fills Stiles with a mix of dread and excitement. Guns and other long-range weapons are only so good when you need to know exactly what poison will kill the creature coning at you, and hand-to-hand combat is what it often comes down to, especially when fighting indoors.

“Great, I see that everybody made it to the class.”

The students turn to look at the teacher, a tough-looking woman with scars on her face and neck that are clearly from claws.

“My name is Braeden.”

She looks at each student in turn, and a hush falls on the gymnasium. Sure she has their attention, Braeden starts again:

“Whatever you are, whichever powers you have, you are not ready. Cornell is a sacred space of learning, but the real world out there? Not quite. There are things out there that want to eat you, torture you, steal your powers. People who will want you dead. You all have weaknesses, chips in the armor nature gave you. They know all about it, and they will sink their claws, talons, blades into that chip and tear you apart.”

A frisson runs in the audience and, though she’s laying it a bit thick, Stiles knows she’s right.

“I’m not here to teach you how to fight. I’m here to teach you how to survive.”

After her grand declaration, Braeden looks at each of them again, eyes in eyes, before clapping her hands once.

“Very well! You, the kitsune, pair up with one the werewolf twin there. Tall spark, you’re with the other one. Blondie werewolf, with the vampire…”

She obviously read their file then, thinks Stiles as he high-fives Aiden. Also, hey, she called him ‘tall spark’, that’s better than Jackson’s ‘blondie werewolf’.

 

The class is hard. Slammed-on-the-ground-without-a-pad hard. It’s not that Aiden is especially mean, it’s just that in comparison, Stiles is as slow and uncoordinated as a newborn fawn. He manages to get a few good hits in, and to escape most attacks, but it’s clearly not enough, and had it been a real fight, he’d be dead. He’s getting back on his feet, rubbing an elbow he knocked on the floor, when Braeden stops by them.

“You’re not practicing the basic moves I’ve demonstrated,” she says.

“We already knew them,” explains Aiden.

“Show me.”

Stiles and Aiden face each other and execute the sequence of attacks and parries the others are working on.

“It’s… decent,” concludes the teacher. “But you’re trying to go to fast, jumping from that directly to free fight. Let’s have you practice a harder set.”

She guides them through the more advanced pattern, explains how the movements can accommodate holding a knife, or parrying a knife or claw attack, before moving on to the next group. Stiles and Aiden work through the new pattern for the rest of the class, and when they’re done, Stiles feels like he made actual progress.

He’s not the only one: whatever their original skills were, everybody in the showers and locker room is talking excitedly about how cool the class is.

“She said she would have experimented fighters come in and help her with the next lesson too!” adds Kira when they meet up outside the building.

“No way, this is so cool!” Stiles can feel his body becoming sore, and knows that tomorrow he’ll have trouble moving around, but he’s already looking forward to the next Friday.

“I’m not very good, though,” says Kira sadly. “I’m better with a sword.”

Danny, a fully human guy who’s all smiles and tanned skin, pitches in: “Are you kidding me? You were great in there, Kira! Stiles and I are the ones with the puny human powers.”

They start walking through campus, heading for the closest cafeteria. It’s a beautiful September day, and people are lounging on the grass slopes.

“Maybe… Maybe we should practice together other times of the week,” Stiles eventually suggests.

“But who’s going to teach us?” wonders Kira.

Stiles eyes catch the ones of a gorgeous blond, lying on the grass with a curly-haired hipster, and a guy built like a tank. The moment their gazes lock, Stiles knows she heard everything they have said so far, which means she has to be some kind of supernatural. He squints his eyes and all three of their auras are shaped like wolves. She smiles, toothy and dangerous and he raises his eyebrows in challenge. She says something to her friends and gets up, catching up to Kira, Stiles and Danny in a few quick steps.

“Looking for sparring partners?” she asks.

If Danny and Kira are surprised at being overheard, they don’t show it.

“What expertise do you bring to the table?” Stiles asks back.

By now, they’ve been joined by Scarf Guy and Tank Guy, who make a show of sniffing them. There’s a pause where the six of them look at each other, evaluating.

“First, we’re werewolves. Second, we’ve been trained by our alpha,” finally contributes the girl.

There’s a second of silence during which Kira, Danny and Stiles have a silent conversation by exchanging looks, raised eyebrows and shrugs. Finally, Kira says:

“Ok, why not, we’ll try it. My name’s Kira, this is Danny, and Stiles.”

The blond werewolf shakes Kira’s extended hand and says:

“I’m Erica. Isaac is the one who likes scarves and Boyd is the one who loves me.”

The smile that goes along the statement makes it clear than the Boyd guy is very much off-limits, but the guy in question just nods, like he’s used to the possessiveness and not minding it at all. They end up all going to the cafeteria together, and by the time lunch is over, Stiles feels like he’s just made three brand new friends.

Overall, this year is off on a good start.


	4. Chapter 4

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck.”

“Spare your breath for running, Stiles.”

Scott, the bastard, didn’t look winded in the least. Not even a drop of sweat.

“What’s… What’s that thing anyway?” managed Stiles in between pants.

“Not sure, but it smells like blood.”

“Vampire?”

“Don’t think so. More animal. It ran on four legs.”

Scott looked unconvinced and Stiles willed his neurons to connect as they started jogging again, putting much needed distance between them and whatever that thing was. Thankfully, they made it to Stiles’ house without any more trouble. The Sheriff was waiting for them in the spare bedroom, transformed a long time ago in their supernatural mystery office. John looked relieved to see them, and Stiles couldn’t blame him: he was relieved to be alive too.

They looked over the case in silence, the gruesome pictures made somehow even more unsettling by being strewn over the floral comforter of the guest bed.

“Can’t be a vampire,” finally said Stiles. “The victims are missing entire organs, not just blood. From what we know of vampires, they’re a shy, secret type.”

“Still, the bodies are also fully empty of their blood. Could it be a vampire turned crazy?” asked the Sheriff.

“It’s just not their _modus operandi,_ you know. Vampires think they’re some kind of nobility. Even when they kill, they do it with class,” explained Stiles.

Scott snorted: “The dumpster behind the Dunkin Donuts sure isn’t classy.”

“Any ideas what else it could be?” asked the Sheriff after a heavy sigh.

“No, but Deaton said he’d be joining us shortly.”

Just as he was saying the words, Stiles computer rang with the tune of a skype call. Soon, the good Dr. Deaton was caught up on the latest supernatural threat in Beacon Hills.

“It might be several things really,” contributed the vet, carefully flipping through one of his old books. “I think Stiles is right in ruling out sentient supernatural beings. Too messy, and the pattern is too random. Scott, any clues you can contribute?”

“It smelled… kinda like a coyote actually. Definitely animal, though the thing we glimpsed at had round ears and was way too big for a coyote.”

“We ruled out shape shifters though,” added Stiles, “because Scotty’s wolf-senses don’t tingle like when his territory is breached.”

“Hmmm. Do the victims still had their wallet?”

John shuffled the files: “Funny you should ask: their wallets was a mess, but nothing seemed to have been taken.”

“Any change left in the wallets or in people’s pocket?”

Stiles quickly reviewed the sections of the files listing personal items found on the bodies.

“Some one dollar bills, but no coins,” he concluded.

“Oh.”

“That’s not a good ‘oh’, is it?” asked Stiles, though he already knew the answer.

The Sheriff ran a tired hand on his face: “Hit us, Doc. What’s our horror of the week?”

“A ghoul,” eventually said Deaton. “They’re rather fond of human flesh and blood, and like to steal coins. They can take the shape of a hyena, or, when they’re powerful enough, of their last victim.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, wondering why the good doctor was so forthcoming that night. It usually required metaphorical pliers to get information out of him. The grainy video masked what little emotion the man might have been showing, though his next sentence made his unusual generosity of information clearer:

“Children are their favorite prey.”

Not for the first time, Stiles wished the supernatural was still a vague unattainable fantasy. He glanced at his trusted baseball bat, propped in a corner of the room next to the safe containing his Dad’s personal gun, a recent acquisition that he had promptly taught Stiles how to use before loaning it to him. Stiles got pulled back into the conversation when Scott asked:

“How do we kill it, Doc?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you like the little snippets of background story? I just couldn't resist retelling Scott and Stiles' high school years.


	5. Chapter 5

“Stiles, your left side!”  
Braeden has barely started shouting than, without any pity, Kira clubs him on his left ribs with the practice batons.   
“Ow! Kira!”  
The girl only smiles.  
“You do always leave your left side wide open.”  
She is definitely a very good swordswoman, way better at it than at hand-to-hand combat, though she is making good progress at it too thanks to their now weekly extra training with Erica, Boyd and Isaac.   
Braeden walks to them as Stiles massages his bruised ribs.   
“You need to mind you left side more, Stiles.”  
“I know… Just old habits.”   
The teacher raises an eyebrow, but Stiles just shrugs in answer. Stiles used to wear this modified bulletproof vest that doubled as armor. He was a lot let squishy when wearing it.   
Kira and him spar a while longer under Braeden’s watchful eyes, and she comments on a few things before moving on. The baton is growing heavy in Stiles hand, who’s tempted to use it like he would his baseball bat rather than the sword it stands for, and he’s struggling a lot more than he’d like. Braeden’s voice rising to address the whole class is a welcome reprieve, and Kira and him stop fighting to turn to her.   
Once she has the whole class’s attention, Braeden speaks again:  
“I have a treat for you today! You’ve been doing great this far in the class. Some of you are even growing a bit too trusting in their own skills.”  
Her glance at Jackson has Stiles smiling inwardly.   
“To keep you motivated, and remind you that the world out there isn’t made of debutant fighters, I invited Ithaca’s local werewolf pack to spar with you.”  
Perfectly on time – they must have been waiting in the hallway, supernatural hearing handy – a group of five people stroll in, lead by a tall, slender woman with auburn hair and a delighted smile that doesn't bode well for the students. Stiles spots Erica, Isaac, and Boyd next, which surprises him a bit, but not as much as seeing Derek Hale bring up the rear. He’s not wearing his uniform, but the sweatpants and the Henley clinging to his abs still do wonderful things to Stiles’s stomach. Stiles must make a sound, because Derek’s eyes zero in on him and he smiles, as feral as his sister. Kira doesn’t miss it and elbows Stiles, eyebrows raised in question, but Stiles taps his ears and she nods. Too many people with the ability to pick up whispers are present.   
“Alpha Hale, welcome to the class.”   
Braeden bows respectfully to the brunet, and Stiles suddenly mutters “Laura huh?” under his breath. Even though he knew she was Derek’s sister, for some reason he had pictured her as grizzled as his Dad. The wolf in question bows back to Braeden, but Stiles knows at the alertness in her shoulders that she heard him.   
“Thank you, Braeden.”   
Laura then turns to the rest of the class and speaks again, in a measured voice that oozes power and confidence: “As always, I’m very grateful for the invitation. I see a very diverse class here, and no doubt some of you have wonderful abilities that might even surpass those of werewolves. But too often I meet supes who are in tight spots because no one told them the real world is cruel. I myself wasn’t born the perfect fighting machine I am now, and it took dramatic events for me to realize that whatever skills nature handed me, I needed to hone. I’d like to spare you the heartbreak and have you realize now how much you still have to learn. Also I can never resist visiting your class and crushing a bunch of kids.”  
The last line is delivered in a lighter tone, and nervous chuckles run through the class.   
“We’ll have all of you spar with some of my pack for a short while, and then I’ll personally fight each of you. Now, while I ask you to follow general courtesy rules when fighting my pack, all bets are off when it comes to fighting me. I’m a trained alpha werewolf, chance is your best dirty tricks won’t even give you an edge.”  
On those last words, she gestures for her pack to take the floor, while slinking back to the edge of the room. Braeden quickly assigns one werewolf from the pack to groups of her students. Stiles and Kira get teamed up with Aiden and Ethan, and Erica volunteers to take them on.   
They start by fighting one on one, and knowing her style from having sparred with her before barely helps Stiles and Kira last more than 30 seconds. Laura is doing a great job at teaching her betas, that’s for sure. Stiles might also be slightly distracted by Derek beating the ever-loving crap out of Jackson. Judging by Jackson’s horrified face when Derek had been assigned to their group, he definitely remembers him as the officer called on the scene of his sexual prowess. A grunt from Erica has Stiles turn his head back to his group: Aiden has joined Ethan in fighting her, and they are a lot better in tandem. She’s still holding her ground, but you can see she’s on the defensive, and that in a real fight they would end up tiring her out and winning. After five minutes of that she calls for a time out.   
“Ok, Stiles, Kira, how about you try to double up on me?”  
They’re getting ready to jump into the fray when Braeden’s voice calls everybody to attention. She leaning on the wall next to Laura Hale, and tells them that it’s time to start fighting against the alpha “so you’ll have time to pick yourself up the floor before the class is done.”  
Stiles would have rolled his eyes if he didn’t have a bad feeling. Laura’s werewolf aura is like nothing he’s ever seen, the wolf engulfing her features like a mask rather than like the vague shape it is for most. He’s not sure what it means, but he’s confident she’s a good fighter. No need to squint his eyes to read the confidence in her movements, the easiness that comes with fighting often and practicing all the time. Stiles’s Dad gets the same swagger in him at the practice range or when he questions a suspect.   
The first few encounters – Stiles can’t even get himself to call them fights – confirm it: Laura is fast, ruthless, and clever in her use of werewolf strength. She is great at dodging and using people’s momentum against them by pushing them along. Her reflexes are perfect, and she seems to read faints easily. Kira lasts a full more minute than Danny, but goes down all the same. Vampire-guy (Steve, Stephen, Stefan?) lasts a mere 10 seconds. Like always in a real fight, the first contact is decisive. No punching each other for 10 minutes: if you get hit, you’re done. She’s not hurting the students physically, but Stiles can see they’re shaken. Even Kira, whose family has been training since her powers manifested, tells Stiles Laura is ‘frightening.’   
Soon, it’s Stiles turn to face her, and even though he has a better idea of Laura’s fighting style, he knows he won’t last long either. Jackson doesn’t forget to taunt him so when Braeden calls his name. Stepping on the mat, Stiles feels Scott’s absence at his side cruelly. Through the years, they developed an array of fighting tricks that got them out of more than one sticky situation. Laura’s eyes fall on him, and she relaxes her stance slightly:  
“You’re the Sheriff’s kid, right?”  
Stiles nods. Laura grins:  
“We’ll see what he taught you.”  
Stiles answers with a smile of his own, the slightly manic one Scott says he gets when a fight is close.   
“Hand me a gun, and I’ll show you.”  
Laura snorts:   
“Ok smartass, bring it on,” she says.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters today my beauties, and then back to Laura and Stiles for the showdown!

“Stiles, Stiles!”  
“Grrrru?”  
Stiles could feel his blood beating a sick, painful tempo on the inside of his skull. Turned out demonic possession felt a lot like the most terrible hangover on the planet.   
“Scott?”  
Stiles hated the weakness in his voice, the horror. Images of Alison flashed before his eyes, beautiful, innocent Alison, killed by the bastard inside Stiles’s body, killed by Stiles’s unwilling hands. They hadn’t been playing the supernatural gig long, but Stiles knew dead when he saw it, and Alison’s eyes had gone glassy, open in death, her blood everywhere, stabbed with her own fucking knife.  
“Scott, I’m sorry.”  
The words were hard, Stiles throat like sandpaper, but he needed to say it. His vision was still swimming around Deaton’s back room at the vet clinic, but he still could see the slump in Scott’s shoulders, the sadness radiating from him.   
“Not your fault, Stiles.”  
“Scott…”  
But what could Stiles say? That beyond the panic, beyond the terrible feeling of not being in control, Stiles had been astonished by what the nogitsune could do with his body? Possessed, he had moved fast and deadly, efficient in a way he had never managed before. The demon was only a spirit. It brought its fighting techniques, but it’s Stiles body, scrawny and gangly, his underdeveloped muscles, his flabby belly, that had done the job. The nogitsune had shown Stiles what he was able to, and even though it shamed Stiles profoundly, he had enjoyed the knowledge. Still enjoyed it, though it had cost a friend her life.   
“Stiles, you okay?”  
The concern in Scott’s voice made Stiles sick. He was disgusted with himself.   
“Oh, I’m peachy, buddy. Just peachy.”  
The sarcasm was dripping, but Scott just leveled a calm stare at him:  
“Don’t punish yourself for this, Stiles. We’re not done here and I need you at your best. There's more of those fuckers out there, and it’s just us two fighting them. Next time we stumble on some crazy shit who wants to eat us, you’re gonna fight better than that bastard. You’re gonna show yourself, and me, that you can do even better than it could.”  
For a while, Stiles couldn’t speak. How had Scott known it was what was going on in his head? How come he didn’t resent Stiles for Alison’s death?  
“Holy cheese on a cracker, when did you become Yoda, Scott?”  
The boy rubbed his crooked jaw and smiled, fond, so very Scott than Stiles would have hugged him if he’d been able to move.  
“Oh, you know, somewhere between the second ghoul and the wendigo.”


	7. Chapter 7

Laura drops into a fighting stance, and her focus comes together, razor-sharp on Stiles. It’s a real fight, her body and attitude tell Stiles that much. She’s got the will to kill all right, and she won’t show mercy. Stiles’s gut goes funny, adrenaline kicking in and he feels his own attention coalesce. _Show-time_ he thinks.

Laura doesn’t hesitate. She swipes a hand at him, no warning, no nothing. Stiles stumbles back, avoids it on pure luck. She follows through with a kick and he goes to the ground, rolling on himself, popping back up eyes wide and fear obvious. It’s pouring out of him now, he knows it, the heavy scent of prey. She growls, low in her throat, moves in for a punch. He jumps to the side, just quick enough, her next hit grazing his ribs. Dancing away won’t get him far, and she knows it, doesn’t even need to taunt him by announcing it aloud. Stiles breathes in, steps back twice, quickly, before she attacks again, and waves his hand like he’s throwing rice at a wedding. Laura’s already jumping at him and Stiles suddenly stands straight, eyes narrowed, will unfaltering. The mountain ash barrier snaps alive, Stiles can feel it in his bones, and Laura crashes on it, stumbles back.

Whispers rise in the crowd, but Laura, in two steps, has done the full round of her enclosure, and she’s already pushing on its weak spot. Stiles breathes in deep, clam. _What next?_ He thinks. He bought himself 10 seconds, give or take. Can’t do better with the little mountain ash dust he stores in all his pants’ pockets. He spots the training batons in their bucket. _Better than nothing._ By the time he’s grabbed one and turns back to the fight, Laura’s already breaking free. _She’s good, better than Scott._ Stiles doesn’t loose one second and whacks Laura on her left knee while she’s busy pushing the barrier. She can’t move: if she let’s go, she’ll have to start from scratch. She grunts but takes the hit. Stiles hits the other knee. He’s not hitting hard, that’s not the point, though she doesn’t know it. He makes it look like he’s hitting as hard as he can. Let her misjudge his strength. The barrier is a second away from cracking, and Stiles breaks the line himself. Focused on pushing, Laura is surprised, stumbles, and Stiles hits her across the shoulders, helping the initial movement forward all the way to the ground. She rolls to avoid his next hit and comes up swinging, eyes blazing red and snarling. _No claws, she’s still in control._ A mixed blessing: enraged werewolves are reckless, and because they heal they tend to forget they still have soft bits in their bodies. Laura charges, and Stiles dodges. She hasn’t noticed, but her movements are slower, her legs heavier. To Laura and everybody else, it seems like Stiles has gotten faster. Instead, he precisely nicked at some sensitive nerves that will take a while to heal fully. She lounges for him again, hands first, a hint of claw on her fingers, and Stiles doesn’t risk it, bats at her right elbow. Thump! _Contact, and three, two, one…_ She doesn’t howl like Scott would have, her control’s better, but the yelp that escapes her has Derek jump in without a second thought. _I’m so screwed_. Laura’s now in beta shift, and Derek’s fangs and claws are out. His eyes shine blue and a distant part of Stiles wonders at that while the rest of him assesses the situation. Braeden is standing on the edge of the mat, ready to intervene, but obviously curious to see how he’ll hold up against two werewolves. Stiles prospects are not good. Derek is standing slightly in front of Laura, who’s checking her arm’s mobility. Her legs should be almost healed by now, and even if her right arm is dominant, she still has teeth, two legs, and another arm available in her arsenal. Derek is fresh for combat, warmed by sparring earlier but not tired in the least, where Stiles is starting to feel the pull on his muscles. Derek leads the next attack and Stiles barely avoids his fists as they come up successively. Stiles dances backward several steps and Derek’s eyes avidly track his movements. Laura is right behind him, ready to jump in. Derek readies himself for the next attacks and Stiles…

 

Stiles drops to his knees, his head and gaze turned sideways, throat bared, palms up at his sides, baton discarded and useless on the ground.

 

Derek freezes a second before impact, backpedals so fast he almost falls on his butt. Stiles turns his head back to face the two werewolves, mirth contained, still submissive.

“I yield!”

“That’s…” Laura’s panting a bit. “That’s fine, get up, Stiles.”

As soon as he’s up, the other students flood the tatami.

“Incredible!”

“Where did you learn that?!”

“That was so cool, Stiles, you need to teach me.”

“The look on Derek’s face when you submitted, ha!”

The last comment is from Erica, gloating, poking Derek in the ribs with vicious fingers as she pats Stiles on the shoulder with her other hand. Stiles eyes catch Derek’s, and the werewolf looks a bit miffed, his generous eyebrows knitted.

“Sorry, dude.”

Derek shrugs: “It worked. I didn’t maul you.”

“Which I’m really grateful for. I’m pretty fond of my physical integrity.”

 _Though I wouldn’t mind getting mauled by you under different circumstances_. The last part is all in Stiles’s head, but maybe some of his smell says it or something, because Erica looks between them, considering.

Thankfully, the moment is broken by Braeden, who shoos the students out of the practice mat, Stiles included.

“Now, if Laura feels up for it, we’ll finish the one on one fights.”

Laura is back in control, her body fully healed, and she nods before proceeding to grind to dust every single remaining student, including Jackson, Ethan and Aiden. All in all, the rest of the class is uneventful.

The mood in the changing rooms is subdued. First, the Hale pack is still there, taking advantage of the amenities as well, and after being crushed by them few guys feel like chitchatting. Danny has a ‘thing’ to got to so he leaves pretty fast, though he makes Stiles promise to explain himself. Stiles takes a quick shower and expects to be on his way, but Laura is waiting for him outside with Erica at her side, and Derek, Isaac, and Boyd are pressing in behind him.

“Am I being ambushed?” asks Stiles.

Laura rolls her eyes and gestures to her pack, and they stop looming immediately.

“Not at all. I just have a few questions for you.”

She’s smiling benevolently, and Stiles might have fallen for it when he was five.

“Am I being arrested? On what charges?”

Laura’s face does show some genuine surprise then.

“No, no, Stiles, I really do have some questions.” She closes her eyes briefly, and Stiles knows she’s scanning for heartbeats. She must not sense any onlookers, because she then asks, hushed:

“What’s happened to you?”

At least it’s honest, direct. Stiles wants to brush it off, be evasive, but he’s done some research since he learned the Hales are werewolves, and he has some news for them.

“It’s going to be a long story,” he temporizes.

“But will you tell us?” she insists.

Stiles nods:

“There are some things you need to know.”


	8. Chapter 8

The phone barely ringed twice before Deaton answered it.

“Stiles.”

“Any ideas what a dead deer on my porch and some kind of nazi triskele on Scott’s door mean?”

“Oh dear.”

“Great. Looks like it’s going to be another fun week in Beacon Hills.”

“I might be able to get us out of this one without a fight.”

“That’d be a first, Doc, but please do try. Should I tell my Dad to put his deputies on high alert?”

“It shouldn’t be necessary. If they target anyone, it will be Scott and yourself, not bystanders.”

“Noted. Who are they?”

“Alpha Pack. Consider them a self-declared werewolf authority. All pack members are powerful alphas. Rumor has it some of them attained that status by wiping out their own pack mates.”

“Super. How could a friendly get-together with those guys ever go wrong?”

Deaton huffed, which, considering the guy, was the equivalent of laughing loudly.

“I’ll call my sister, Stiles. You fetch Scott and have him work on getting the alpha out. You two will need to bring that argument to the table if Scott is to remain unaffiliated.”

“Noted. Oh, and Doc? Check in every 10 minutes starting now. We wouldn’t want a repeat of the darach situation.”

Deaton’s voice had a hint of fondness in it when he answered:

“Very well, Stiles. I'll talk to you in 10 minutes.”


	9. Chapter 9

They have moved to Fork and Gavel, a busy eatery on campus. They are tucked away in a corner, the ambient noise a perfect cover at lunchtime, and the long wooden tables big enough to accommodate their group. Stiles is gesturing wildly, caught up in the story though his voice is kept low:

“…and so those assholes, who had come to kill Scott, where now trying to recruit him!”

His sentence was met by an appropriate growl from Erica, but the other ones looked like they were still reeling. Isaac whispered:

“What’s a true alpha anyway?”

Laura pinched her nose, like it would help with the onslaught of information, while Derek turned to Isaac:

“Sometimes in hard times, a beta werewolf will manifest as an alpha. It’s very rare, but the fact that there weren’t any alpha around might have played a role.”

“Yeah, and the darach, Jennifer, or whatever her real name was, had captured pack mates of sort: Scott’s mom, my dad, our emissary. So he had to step up to the plate, you know,” contributed Stiles.

“Ok, back on track!” Laura is trying to wrap her head around all that’s happened back in Beacon Hills. She counts on her fingers:

“So far we have Uncle Peter waking up, killing some naïve alpha he’d lured with the promise of power, then biting Scott before being taken care of by the naïve alpha’s pack.” She counts one for that.

“Then Argents move back in town thinking Peter is still around. Since he’s already dead, Scott manages to make peace with them.” She ticks another finger.

Stiles snorts:

“Well, it helped that Alison fell in love with him as much as he did. It was messy for a while because Kate and Gerard wanted blood, but eventually they let things go. They left Chris, Victoria and Alison to watch over Scott. It was in their interest really, since Scott and I took care of most supernatural shit showing up anyway. Less pressure on their backs.”

“What do you mean, ‘supernatural shit’ coming up?” that’s Isaac, sounding a bit faint now.

Laura pinches the edge of her nose again as Stiles gleefully enumerates:

“Let’s see… We killed a bunch of ghouls, a wendigo, a nogitsune. We parlayed with some pixies, an errant vampire, and a few shape-shifters looking at getting the territory. Apparently, after the darach, a bunch of people and things got attracted by the nemeton’s energy. The alpha pack’s visit must have spread too, at least to California, because we also had some omegas show up to get adopted or to contest Scott’s claim on the land, though obviously only Laura would actually be legitimate there.”

“And you… won every time?”

Derek sounds sincerely impressed, and Stiles would feel some pride if the price paid, at every step of the way, hadn’t been so huge.

“Yeah, Scott and I survived, but Victoria died, Alison died, my dad lost his job for a while, Melissa’s hair turned white, Deaton got a bunch of new scars, and I have some too. Man, I was fucking _possessed_ for a while. I wouldn’t call it winning. We barely survived.”

“How come you’re in Cornell, then?” asked Laura.

“Things got quieter. Once we knew it was the Nemeton, Deaton and I performed a cleansing. We got better at negotiating rather than fighting. Scott made a pact with some neighbors and got Satomi to teach him how to be an alpha. He adopted a were-coyote we found in the forest, and bit his first beta to save his life. If I’m ever to be more useful, I need to learn anyway. I’m good at the talking part, or at tricking my opponents, but I need to know about them to do that, and Deaton’s books and Google didn’t cut it anymore.”

“But you fought well, against Laura!” cries Erica. “I’ve never seen a human do so well.”

Stiles laughed, an ugly, disabused chuckle.

“I’ve been training with a werewolf, under an Argent’s tutelage, and I managed not to die for 5 minutes, against one werewolf who didn’t want to kill me. Go me!”

There’s a pause and Stiles concludes:

“It’s a rough world out there, and I need to be better equipped. I think studying at Cornell will help.”

There’s a silent conversation going on between Derek and Laura, full of frowning eyebrows, eyes rolls, and shrugs. It reminds Stiles of the innate understanding of each other Scott and him share. Finally, Derek nods, and Laura says:

“Beacon Hills still is partly our pack’s responsibility. We will advise and help you in any way we can.”

Because Stiles isn’t an idiot and learned about those kind of things, he holds his hand out, palm down:

“Blood oath in front of the relevant authorities?”

Laura puts her hand on top of his, palm to back.

“Is going to the Finger Lakes Supernatural Authorities good with you, or would you rather go to the Central California ones?”

“The Finger Lakes one is ok. I deal with ghouls, I think I’ll manage some paperwork.”

Laura nods, amused, and Stiles puts his other hand on top of hers, sealing the initial agreement.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey Scotty, guess what happened today?”

The video is grainy, and Scott looks tired, but he’s smiling at seeing Stiles.

“You burned your lab in some mad scientific experiment?”

“Nah, buddy, you’ll have to wait some more years before that happens. I’m not allowed into labs unsupervised yet.”

“So what happened? You met someone, is that it? Are you in love?”

There’s a mix of excitement and worry in Scott’s voice. Since Stiles very briefly dated Malia, nothing’s happened on that stage, and Scott, who now is a pack mom with responsibilities, is clearly hoping to live the college life vicariously through Stiles, while being worried he’d get tricked by some supe.

“Nah, don’t worry, Jackson the Asshole is the one who gets seduced by succubi. No, better, I found you a new ally. Her name’s Laura Hale, and her pack was the one originally living in Beacon Hills!”

“Wait, your dad’s contact?”

“Yeah! And her brother totally is the hot cop who came to help with Jackson.”

“Oooh. So you _did_ meet someone, heh? Tell me, what does he look like?”

Scott's smile is now a grin, and if he totally reminds Stiles of a puppy wagging its tail. Scott has to be the goofiest True Alpha to have ever graced the Earth, but he's Stiles's alpha, and his bro, and if Stiles can make him happy by gossiping about his crush, he'll do it. 


	11. Chapter 11

“So your alpha’s landing on Friday evening? Should we go welcome him at the airport?”

Fussing Laura is the cutest. Not that Stiles would ever dare tell her that: already she must feel some of his amusement because she glares daggers at him.

“Stiles…”

It’s meant as a warning growl, but Stiles can tell she’s a bit amused despite herself too. He glances around the coffee shop, but Waffle Frolick is quiet, and they’re the only ones in the room.

“Is it actually the first time you’re making an official treaty with another werewolf pack?”

Laura cuts a piece of her bacon & maple waffle, spears it with her fork and eventually nods before shoving it in her mouth.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like Scott is a traditional werewolf anyway. And to answer your question, let me pick him up at the airport. He hates planes now, something about the smell.”

Laura nods again, still chewing, and purses her mouth and nose. Clearly, she’s not a fan either. Stiles continues:

“I’ll have him take a shower at my place, and then we can head over for dinner to yours.”

“Wouldn’t he rather meet us on neutral ground?”

“He’s bringing Malia and Liam, and you’ll want to bring all your pack too. With the Finger Lakes Authority Official, that’s already 10 people. We won’t be able to go anywhere and not attract attention.”

“Hmmm, you’re right. Short of privatizing a room…”

Stiles shook his head in a no motion, bringing the point home with a jiggle of his fork.

“It’s too much. The more formal, the more uncomfortable the both of you will be. Again, we’re looking at a non-traditional pact, not a Kardashian wedding.”

“Yes, ok. So barbecue at our place? And you’re all welcome to stay the night. There will be wolfsbane moonshine to celebrate after.”

Stiles makes a face and Laura adds, with a chuckle:

“And we’ll get you some regular beer too, Stiles.”

They hash out a few more details over their delicious waffles, and Stiles promise to visit their place this weekend, so that he can report to ‘his alpha’ before the whole McCall pack arrives the following week.

Apparently the Hale pack has a house in the middle of the woods, by a gorge, and Stiles is looking forward to visiting. October has been wonderfully warm so far, and he wouldn’t mind going for a swim.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s not a house. It’s a manor. In a typical Ithaca fashion, the building is mostly wood on stone foundations, a sprawling affair with porches on two sides, balconies, and a tower in an angle, just for fun.

Stiles hasn’t knocked on the door yet, taking in the architecture, that Laura is already opening the door. She hugs him briefly – she warned him she would, so his scent wouldn’t clash too much with the pack’s once he is in their den – and ushers him inside. She barely has time to tell him to take off his shoes before she runs away: “Something’s about to burn!” she yells, then adds: “Make yourself comfortable, your friends are in the living room”.

Stiles does a quick tour of the first floor: the door on his right, which Laura disappeared through, leads to the kitchen, all in shades of white and yellow. It looks like it’s been redone recently, all modern steel and marble surfaces. On one end, the tower hosts a breakfast nook, and on the other it opens on the garden’s porch. Facing Stiles, an open door lets him glimpse inside the dining room, currently empty. French doors link the porch with the room, also letting light in from the garden, and Stiles spots a well-supplied liquor & wine cabinet in a corner. Finally, Stiles turns left and steps inside the living room. It’s the biggest room on this floor, with a plethora of armchairs and couches of mismatched styles, but all various shades of green. Some seem more worn than others, the kind you sink in and have trouble getting up from, Stiles can tell. Kira and Danny are sitting at a round table in the corner opposite the door, playing Settlers of Catan with Isaac and Boyd. Bookshelves cover two of the walls, floor to ceiling, and Stiles immediately wants to peruse the volumes, and borrow some of the ones that seem to be about supernatural creatures.

Overall, the house reminds Stiles of some of Cornell’s frat houses: there are bow windows, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, artistic wood panels and fancy crossbeam ceilings, but the modest furniture and the casual mess make it cozy. It’s obviously lived-in, coats and shoes in the entrance, magazines and textbooks on tables, dishes in the sink, and Stiles already feels at home as he crosses the room to say hi to his friends.

“Erica is patrolling the territory. She’ll be back in a few,” says Isaac.

“Trouble?” worries Stiles.

“She’s just checking on a werecougar that’s been visiting Cornell. She felt more comfortable in the woods, though Laura offered hospitality.”

It’s Boyd answering, completely relaxed, and Stiles unwinds as well.

“You want to join us?” asks Kira.

It looks like the game is well advanced, though far from finish, and Stiles doesn’t want to interrupt, so he answers:

“Nah, you’re good. I’ll see if Laura needs help. Where’s Derek, anyway?”

Boyd chuckles and point to the bow window on the other side of the room, next to the door Stiles came in through. Derek is sitting on the bench there, staring at the group over the edge of a book, and Stiles can’t help jumping a bit.

“Have you been sitting there the whole time?!”

Derek just nods, still hidden by the book propped on his bent knees.

“Jesus! Creeper McCreepy much?” mutters Stiles under his breath, before clapping a hand to his mouth. He always forgets just how good werewolf hearing is, and as Isaac snorts and Boyd holds back a smile, Stiles flees the room. There’s a door that leads directly into the dining room, but it’s closed, so Stiles goes back to the entrance, stealing a glance at Derek in passing and catching the edge of a flush on the top of the werewolf’s ears. He tries to convince himself it’s not adorable and completely fails.

 

“Ah, Stiles, you find your friends ok?”

There’s no way he could have gotten lost on the first floor, but Stiles nods all the same at Laura’s question.

“Can I help with anything?”

She huffs: “You’re sweet, Stiles, but Isaac and Derek already offered. I’ll have them set the table in a while, but in the meantime, there’s not much to do. How about you go check out the gorge?”

“Err, is it dangerous?”

She laughs: “You’re smack in Hale territory, no one and nothing will bother you, not even wildlife.”

Stiles smiles: “I was more thinking of drowning, honestly.”

“Oh? Don’t you know how to swim?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll be fine, the water’s quiet this time of the year.”

Without raising her voice in the least, Laura then adds: “Derek, how about you go with him?”

Stiles barely has time to think “huuh?” that the werewolf is looming in the kitchen door. Laura looks like the canary that got the bird, her eyes fleeting between them as Derek stares unwaveringly at Stiles. Stiles narrows his eyes at Laura: he’s not sure what her agenda is, but he knows she has one, and he wants her to know he knows. Then he looks back at Derek: “Let’s go, big guy.”

The frown on Derek’s face clearly says he doesn’t appreciate the nickname, but he doesn’t share his displeasure further, choosing instead to cross the kitchen and exist through the back. Without checking that Stiles is following, he vaults over the porch stairs – _show off_ – and stalks across the garden and into the woods. Stiles snorts and follows. It’s not like he has other things to do anyway.

 

As they walk through the woods in silence – is Derek mute when off duty?! – Stiles can’t help but let his thoughts wander. He didn’t appreciate Derek’s handsomeness to its full value during past encounters, what with being dead on his feet or fearing for his physical integrity, and now that the werewolf is walking in front of him, jeans hugging his fantastic butt and tight t-shirt doing great things to his shoulders, Stiles _likes_ what he sees. It’s not just Derek’s body either: the big ears, the neat hair & stubble, the silence, and the serious demeanor are all things that appeal to Stiles. The brooding types always make him want to shake them up, forcibly inject to laughter in their lives.

The perspective of playing around in the water also leaves Stiles plenty of space to work with. He’s pretty sure he’s seen a dozen teenage movies use the trope, but what’s better than some invigorating, half-naked exercise, and maybe a clumsy sorry-I-slipped-and-I’m-rubbing-on-you to show one’s interest?

Stiles is so gone in his mind-space that when Derek stops, he walks straight past him and almost falls down when the ground suddenly starts sloping down. Derek wrenches him back with a strong hand on his shoulder, and when Stiles regain his equilibrium, he lets out a soft ‘oooh!’ of wonderment.

A 14-feet waterfall drops into a pond that then snakes away as a quiet river. The pool and riverbed, dug by centuries of water, create a depression in the surrounding forest, giving the feeling of a secret spot hidden amidst the green. On the banks, earth and mud become flat, large stones. Sun peeks through the foliage, and bounces on the water, creating dancing reflections that visually answer the rumble of the waterfall and the whisper of the wind in the trees. Even Stiles’s fertile imagination had not pictured something so enchanting.

“Beautiful, right?”

Derek sounds a bit smug, and Stiles closes his mouth with a clap.

“Meh, I guess so.”

Derek must not believe his dismissal for a second because he huffs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his face lighting up with mirth, and Stiles says:

“Now, _that_ ’s beautiful.”

Derek lock eyes with him, surprise written plain in them, and Stiles feels like banging his head on a tree. _Very subtle, well done, and now I’ve been silent too long, and staring too much to pretend I was talking about something else, oh gods, why am I such an idiot…_

Stiles isn’t sure what shows on his own face, but the blush he wasn’t sure about is back, invisible under the stubble but coloring the tip of Derek’s ears, and Stiles finds it even more adorable and _is Derek interested?_ Now, Stiles feels hot, and his heart is beating fast, and when Derek finally breaks eye contact it’s to look at Stiles chest. _Oh no, of course he can totally hear that, he’s a werewolf_. Stiles breathes deeply, gets his body under control, and says:

“Well, now that I’ve embarrassed myself thoroughly, I’m going to go swimming.”

He gestures awkwardly at the pond, adjust his backpack, and start the descent on a narrow but obviously well used path. Tree roots sometime act as natural steps, and Stiles is enchanted anew. Forcing himself not to pay attention to Derek, he drops his bag by a tree, not far from the water, and starts undressing. He’s already wearing his swim trunks, so really it’s just a matter of toeing off his shoes and socks, taking off his t-shirt and stepping towards the water. He dips a foot in the water and yelps:

“Jesus, that’s cold!”

He turns to Derek, bravely ignoring the awkwardness from a minute before, and asks:

“Is it always so…”

Derek is on him in a second, eyes blazing though still mostly human.

“Who did that?! What happened?”

He splays a warm hand on Stiles’s chest and the spark reacts without thinking, grabbing the hand, pulling and pushing, bringing Derek to his knees with his arm in his back in a painful lock.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

There’s something dark and ugly in Stiles’s voice, even he can hear it, distantly, behind the anger, the fear, the memories of pain and betrayal. Derek whines, low in his throat, apologetic, and Stiles snaps out of it, brings himself back in a few, deep, controlled breaths. Carefully, he lets go of Derek, steps back, raises his hands with the open palms facing Derek, the gesture for non-threatening.

“Sorry, you took me by surprise.”

Derek rolls his shoulder, but the pain is probably already gone now.

“You, huh, you did too,” admits the werewolf.

Stiles traces the four claw marks starting at his left clavicle and disappearing under his trunks.

“Scott didn’t have an alpha, or even another werewolf around when he was turned. Control was… tough… at first.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Well…” Derek sighs, guilt clear in the way he hangs his head, shoulders sagging.

“Derek.”

Stiles feels some of that anger come back, now cold and speculative, and Derek must hear it too, because he spills the beans immediately:

“About 4 years ago we got a picture in the mail. A warning. Laura wanted to go back to Beacon Hills, to check it out, but I convinced her not to. We were living in the city then. She was about to get her first assignment as a newly graduated officer. We came to Ithaca instead.”

Stiles can fill in the blanks just fine: while Scott and Stiles tried to survive hell back in California, Derek and Laura settled in Ithaca, built a pack around them, made peace with their troubled pasts. It will take more time for Stiles to deal with the horror of his high-school years, and he still believes that studying at Cornell is more of a golden parenthesis, a break inside the eye of the storm, rather than real life. How could he blame the Hales for not coming back? Ithaca is a paradise on Earth. Stiles breathes deeply again, gestures to the greenery around them, and says:

“I wouldn’t have come back either, Derek. You have a good life here.”

It comes out a bit bitter, and it’s not the words ‘I forgive you,’ but it’s all that Stiles can give right now. Voice as even as possible, he then says:

“I’m going to swim now.”

And braving the cold water, Stiles wades his way into the pond.

Turns out the water is powerful enough to dunk Stiles under, and the pond is deeper than he expected. Right underneath the waterfall, it’s deep enough that he could jump from the top of it. He tucks the fact away for when he comes back with Scott: right now he needs to relax, not get adrenaline flowing. The nogitsune left him all messed up inside, his negative emotions flaring easily, like the trickster woke up something feral in Stiles that had been dormant before. Sometimes, he compares himself to Naruto, and his newfound rage to Kyuubi. Like in the manga, Stiles sometimes manages to tap into those feelings to make his spark ignite, though once burning it feeds on control and not on raw emotions. Stiles just wishes there was some wise sensei to teach him, an old wizard versed in his kind of power. Deaton had done all that he could, but eventually had sent him to college with more questions than answers.

 

Still, he had taught Stiles a few useful things, and as the spark worked is way through Deaton’s meditative yoga exercises, he let the bitterness and ire wash away, to be replaced by thankfulness, love, and hope. After all, he's not dead yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been a bit slow with this chapter! I had to work through some character feels, and I definitely had to make a map of the Hale house, because my first description made no sense. I might share that later on, if you'd like.


	13. Chapter 13

“So, that’s it? You did your zen thing, and then you just had lunch with them?”

“Pretty much… I mean, it was lively, don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure Isaac wolfed out when Erica tried to steal his last fries, and Laura had to flash her eyes when dessert came out, but it went well.”

“And Derek didn’t go swimming with you? Nothing… else happened?”

“Now, Alpha, what are you _trying_ to insinuate?”

On the other side of the line, Scott snorts.

“Oh, I’m not insinuating. I don’t believe for a second you wouldn’t jump that guy’s bones if you could.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“You didn’t maim him for touching you without asking first.”

Stiles has to admit, it’s a pretty good argument. He sighs, exaggeratedly.

“Well, he stayed fully dressed and stared like the creeper he is from the side of the pond. He had ‘forgotten his bathing suit’.”

Scott obviously hears the quotation marks, because he drops a sympathetic: “Lame!”

“Yep. Wouldn’t be convinced to swim naked either.”

This time Scott laughs honestly and out loud.

“Only you, Stiles, could ask a guy to get naked for you before you even went on a date.”

“Hey,” exclaims Stiles indignantly, “it was worth trying.”

Scott doesn’t say anything, but Stiles knows he's smiling on the other side of the phone call.

“Ok, Alpha mine, that’s the end of my report. I’ll see you Friday?”

“See you Friday, Stiles. I’m looking forward to it.”


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles gets a glimpse of Scott’s curly hair and feels like jumping up and down on the spot, like when they were six and Melissa had dropped Scott at Stiles’s house for a play date. But then another sight gets Stiles’s heart soaring:

“Daaad!”

He feels like an idiot when people turn his way, but he doesn’t care, he takes off running and crushes his two favorite people in the world in a hug. He only relents when Scott pats his back with a grunt:

“Stiles, buddy, I can’t breathe.”

The spark lets go and immediately launches into a verbal torrent:

“Dad, I’m so happy to see you, I missed you! Scott, of course I missed you too. What about Liam and Malia coming? Is everybody ok? And who’s in charge of the territory? What if something happens while you’re over here?”

When Stiles had to take a break to get air back in his lungs, his Dad jumped into the fray:

“Hi, Stiles, I’m happy to see you too. I missed you as well. Liam and Malia have exams next week and stayed in Beacon Hills to study. Melissa and Deaton are in charge, and Parrish is in the know just in case Police is needed. Apparently he’s something supernatural too even if he didn’t know it himself.”

“…”

Stiles silence is both a question and a reprimand, but where Scott has the good grace of looking guilty, John brushes it away with a smile:

“The story could wait a few days. We were just having the last station barbecue of the year, and Parrish inadvertently put his hand right in the coals, except he didn’t get burned in the least. Thankfully, I was the only witness. Deaton failed to read his aura fully, me being part of the trip is also so I can drop by Cornell as well to see his sister.”

 _Right,_ thinks Stiles _, Morrell is the vice-director of the School of Supernatural._

“Still, you could have dropped me a line.”

“We could have, but the surprise seemed nicer!”

With a huff, Stiles has to recognize that yes, the surprise is nice. His Dad and him have been brought closer together by Scott’s transformation and the subsequent shit show that Beacon Hills became, and being far from home has been tougher than he thought it would.

“So what’s the plan for today?”

Brought out of his thoughts, Stiles explains:

“First, I thought you’d appreciate dropping your stuff at my place and taking a shower. I’ll inform Laura of the change in plans, but I’m sure she’ll still welcome the three of us overnight. Dad might even warrant a real bed rather than a mattress on the floor. I’ve done some cooking already, so we just need throw the salad together and then we’re good to go and meet them for dinner.”

They discuss a few more details as they get out of the airport and in Stiles’s car, and the spark ends that part of the conversation by adding:

“And I hope you didn’t forget to pack a swimsuit, because they have a gorge on their property and it’s awesome.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since my last update! Life getting in the way, work, video games… But I'm back! And I know how this story will end…

They end up being late, there was an unforeseen kitchen catastrophe that had pasta reach uncomfortable places, and resulting extra showers they hadn’t planned on.

But all in all, when they park in the Hale House’s driveway, they feel ready for the night. They’re clean – though Scott maintain they still faintly smell of olive oil – they have beer, and Stiles outlined all the exits he spotted on his first visit to his Dad and Scott. Being careful never hurt anyone.

So, they feel ready.

 

They’re not ready.

 

Stiles hasn’t finished parking his old Subaru Outback yet that already the door is wide open. Laura is the sole silhouette standing in the frame, but the shivering curtains in the bow window mean that they have an audience.

They try to play it cool at they walk to the door, but at the last second, overcome with protective fatherly instinct, the Sheriff tries to go first to shake Laura’s hand, bumping into Scott and his already extended hand. Stiles hides behind his hands, sighs, and says:

“Dad, let the Alpha go first.”

“Ah, oh, uuuh.”

The Sheriff steps down on that brilliant comeback, and Scott, now embarrassed at taking precedence over the man he considers like a second father – his only real father – is awkward as hell when he presents his hand again for Laura to shake.

 

Thankfully, the female Alpha just smiles, benevolent, and says:

“Alpha McCall, welcome to the Hale territory.”

She shakes Scott’s hand before dragging him in a short hug, barely an accolade. Enough to exchange scents, but not enough to rate as a challenge.

After that, things go more smoothly. Stiles gets a hug too, and when Laura and the Sheriff shake hands, there’s a lot of respect, and more affection than Stiles knew about, in the following hug.

“It’s good to see you,” says John, and Stiles feels like maybe they’ve been exchanging more than the passing piece of news his Dad mentioned.

Once they move inside, to be welcomed by the rest of the Hale pack, Derek gets a dedicated ‘son,’ and his own hug, which deepens Stiles’s suspicions. The Sheriff is colder with Boyd, Erica and Isaac, but the way he immediately identify them, like he can finally put faces to known names, finally confirms Stiles’s hypothesis: the Hales and his Dad have been in touch more thoroughly than admitted by either of them, and John’s visit has likely more to do with wanting to see them in person than with discovering what Parrish is.

 

Stiles finds himself a bit jealous, but mostly content with the situation. Laura and Derek deserve a bit of Dad’s awesomeness. Who knows where Stiles and Scott would be without him, with all that supernatural stuff going on, and even unaware of the Hales being werewolves, Stiles is sure his Dad still managed to share some of his wise and practical advice.

 

Once they are all introduced and properly rubbed in the right scents, they move on to the garden where a barbecue is already warming up, and the porch’s table is set. The Sheriff takes a sit in the shade, a beer in one hand, promising to keep an eye on the grill while Scott and Laura wander off on a walk. Stiles would have liked to come along, but he knows that they need to do their alpha-thingy alone. He must still come off as anxious (maybe his smell?), because Erica, after a vigorous pat on the back, invites him to a game of ultimate with her and Isaac. The game thoroughly distracts Stiles from the ongoing alliance negotiation: the werewolves are competitive and forget once or twice that Stiles is made of fragile bones that won’t mend in a few minutes. He’s dodging a Frisbee that would have left a bruise, and rolling away to avoid Isaac trampling him in his haste to catch it, when a furry black shape zooms overhead and catches the ultimate. Isaac yells ‘unfair!’ and Stiles sits up slowly, gaze locked on the huge wolf that’s walking over to him, Frisbee in its maw. The wolf is bigger than a regular wolf would be, and its eyes blaze blue.

“Oh! Derek?”

The wolf swishes his tail and spits out the Frisbee at Stiles’s feet.

“Wow. It’s the first time I see a full shift. Super cool.”

The wolf bows his head and front legs, like he’s curtsying, and Stiles laughs:

“Joining my team against your unfair betas?”

Derek barks once and when Stiles picks up the Frisbee and throws it, he saunters after it, nipping at Erica’s heels to keep her from catching it.

The game starts anew, a lot more interesting for Stiles now that he has someone on his side. Brought out to the garden by the ruckus, Boyd ends up being charmed into playing by Erica, tilting the balance back into the betas’ favor. All in all, they are having tremendous fun, and Stiles can see his Dad chuckling from the porch, wholly entertained.

When Scott and Laura step back into the garden from the forest, they catch Stiles smack in his victory dance after a particularly good catch from Derek, snagging the Frisbee mid-air, a second before Boyd’s hand would have reached it. Derek’s too dignified to join, but the way he spits the Frisbee at Stiles’s feet and then sit smugly on his ass, one paw on the Frisbee, looking down on the other three, is hilarious still.

“I quit!” wails Erica, throwing herself dramatically on the grass.

“The Frisbee is all slobbery anyway,” adds Isaac before joining her.

Boyd shrugs and sits next to them, and Erica immediately puts her head in his lap for him to scratch, which he does.

“Pups…” chides Laura, but she’s smiling, looking over the wolf and the sweaty teenagers with tenderness written all over her face.

“The grill’s ready for meat!” the Sheriff pipes in.

“Boyd gets up and makes for it, but Laura waves him back.

“Go wash up, all of you. I’ll get started on grilling.”

 

By the time everybody’s refreshed, and wearing clean t-shirts, there’s plates of sausages and hamburgers on the table just begging to be stuffed in buns and devoured. Laura finishes up with the grill and adds the last of them to the pile. She sits in front of Scott. Stiles and the Sheriff flank their Alpha, but Isaac has no qualms about sitting on the guest side of the table, at Stiles’s right, in front of Erica. Since Boyd sat on Laura’s right, facing the Sheriff, that leaves a blatant empty spot for Derek, who comes to the table last, having had to redress fully, and plops himself at Laura’s left, in front of Stiles.

Stiles wonders for a second how it came to that, but he won’t complain. He’s been enjoying Derek’s company immensely, especially seeing him goof around in his full shift. Stiles thinks that the impossibility to talk might actually make it easier for Derek to interact, erasing his usual shyness. Or maybe it’s being closer to the wolf: Scott often says that he feels more in tune with himself, more comfortable when in his wolf skin. But since Scott was already 100% puppy before being bitten, it’s hard to extrapolate.

“Scott, Stiles, Sheriff.”

Laura raises her glass:

“I, Laura Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack, would like to toast to a new pack alliance. I’m happy for the opportunity to meet the alpha now in charge of the Hale’s birth territory, and I’m even happier to grant Scott McCall full rights over Beacon Hills.”

The formulation is a tad formal, but here, surrounded by the vibrant nature, the smell of grilled meat, and the happiness on every person present, it feels appropriate. Scott gravely raises his glass back, toasting with coke, and declares:

“I, Scott McCall, Alpha of the Stilinski-McCall Pack, am happy to have found allies in the Hale Pack, but I’m even more thrilled to have met amazing people today. I would like to toast to new friends.”

It’s the perfect move, and Stiles is proud of Scott. Everybody cheers good-heartedly, and then unceremoniously digs in. Despite having shared a meal with them before, Stiles is still taken aback when the hamburgers and buns disappear in a few minutes. The cold pasta doesn’t resist much longer. Stiles is trying to reach for a hot-dog bun when Derek’s growl make him retract his hand.

“Uh, what’s…”

A second later however, as Isaac puts back Stiles’s last sausage on its rightful owner’s plate, he realizes that Derek was actually defending his food. Having watched the exchange, Laura flashes her eyes at Isaac, who glowers.

The Sheriff chuckles and leaning back past Scott and Stiles, says to the moody werewolf:

“Also, Stiles may not have been raised by wolves, but I wouldn’t risk his wrath if he catches you stealing his food.”

Erica picks this second to snatch Isaac’s entire plate, which still has some pasta salad, and replaces it with her own, completely empty one, before digging right in.

“Hey!!!”

Isaac looks to Laura, who shrugs, indifferent:

“Well, you’re not a guest.”

The table bursts out in laughter, and Isaac’s glower reaches new levels. When people start eating again, picking up conversations where they dropped, Stiles makes his hot-dog, breaks it, and puts one half on Isaac’s plate. The werewolf doesn’t say anything but he bumps shoulders with Stiles and hands him the ketchup so he can use it first.

Stiles is about to bite in his half hot-dog when he catches Derek’s eyes. The man hasn’t missed the gift and there’s something considering and soft in the way he looks at Stiles that makes the spark’s cheeks heat up. He bites in his hot-dog and swallows too fast, blaming the mustard when Scott has to tap his back when he chokes.

His heart’s beating too fast, but he hopes the werewolves present will blame it on the mustard too.

 

And if Isaac glances from Derek, to Stiles, to the untouched mustard on the other side of the table, he keeps his thoughts for himself.


	16. Chapter 16

Breakfast is a quieter affair than diner was. They played board games late into the night – Stiles crushed everybody at Seven Wonders – and being a werewolf doesn’t help with not being a morning person, as Stiles witnesses when a bleary eyed Erica walks in the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing a t-shirt which size makes it very likely one of Boyd’s. She’s grunting, cup of coffee in hand, eyes scanning the counters for something. Stiles takes pity on her and pushes the sugar and cream her way before sitting down in the breakfast nook. Laura’s making pancakes, and he digs in happily. Everybody trickles in, the Sheriff last despite going to bed first, and Stiles has to resist cooing when Derek appears, dressed for the day but with a cowlick sticking up on the side of his head.

Once everybody has food and coffee – though Isaac and Boyd elect to drink tea – Scott asks about the program for the day.

 

 

 

“How about we head for the pond?” offers Laura. “The weather is supposed to be good today.”

Scott’s face lights up:

“Stiles told me you had your own waterfall! I would love to check it out.”

Isaac grumbles that the water will be frigid in this season, but Derek rolls his eyes and points out that no one’s forcing him to swim.

“Bring a book, or something,” he suggests.

 

When they get there, it’s as beautiful as Stiles remembers, and he’s thankful for the good weather and the enduring summer. The Sheriff, Boyd, and Isaac elect to stay out of the pond, but the rest of the group is quick to waddle in the water, albeit not without yells and laughter at how cold the water is. Someone brought a ball, and they engage in a highly competitive, bastardized game of water polo to keep warm. Stiles is having fun, and is reluctant to leave the water though his teeth are chattering, when Laura suddenly stops swimming, her head swiveling to somewhere in the woods before she starts rushing out of the water.

“Everybody, out! Something breached the perimeter.”

The speed at which the Hale Pack is dressed and ready to fight, beta shifts on, is a testimony to Laura’s efficient training. Stiles and Scott are not far behind though.

“I knew I should have brought my bat,” mumbles Stiles as he forages in his backpack for supplies.

“Laura, any idea what we are facing?” asks Derek.

“Not sure, but it’s numerous and with bad intentions.”

“And buzzing,” adds Scott, before glancing meaningfully at Stiles.

“God fucking dammit. Fairies.”

“Language, son.”

“Sorry Dad.”

“Fairies?” repeats Erica, looking confused. “I thought they avoided the East Coast.”

“Yeah, well, this guy might have something to do with it,” says Scott, pointing at Stiles.

Laura eyes where the sound comes from and says:

“You have 30 second to explain, and they’ll be on us.”

“Can’t we run?” whines Isaac.

“They’re faster than we are,” says Derek.

“Stiles!” prompts Laura again.

“Well, they tried to kidnap and eat me a few years back. Scott banned them from our territory, and Cornell is neutral ground. But I guess they’ve heard we’d be here today, and until we sign the treaty officially, they _technically_ are allowed to attack me here.”

“But… why?”

That’s Erica, frowning.

“I, er, might have accidentally killed their princess when I escaped. To my defense, it’s hard to aim for stunning when someone’s biting you.”

“Well, you better aim to stun now, because we can’t kill any of those fuckers ok!”

Laura’s warning comes right before Stiles start hearing the buzzing and, a few seconds later, hand-sized, dragonfly-like creatures swarm out of the trees, their flight creating waves on the pond as they cross over to attack, pointy teeth and long nails all out, their beauty strangely enhanced by their clear harmful intentions.

Thankfully, it’s actually pretty hard to kill a fairy, so Stiles doesn’t restrain himself too much as he swings a dead branch as an improvised bat, keeping an eye out for the bright blue worn by the royal family. Watching Derek and Laura fight is a thing of beauty: they’re born wolves, and you can tell by the way they don’t hesitate to bite and claw rather than throw punches. They hold-off during the class, that much is for sure. Derek in particular is balanced, economical in his movements, precise. Laura is a tad more angry, a bit more vicious. When she roars, half the fairies flying towards her suddenly reroute to the next werewolf in sight.

“Stiles! You have to do your thing, man!”

That’s Scott, and he’s right. The fairies are so numerous it doesn’t matter much how many they take down: more keep coming. Their teeth are venomous too, and if one or two bites are ok, even werewolf will be paralyzed in time. Stiles is on is third and he’s feeling slow and woozy.

“Cover me, buddy. Gotta mix a few things.”

With a roar that has _all_ fairies fly out of his way, Scott runs to Stiles’s side:

“I thought you always had it ready?”

Stiles chuckles:

“I’d blow myself off every time my bag hits something.”

The spark mixes a few powders in a glass bottle, corks it, and delicately shakes the contents.

“Everybody to me!” he yells.

Thankfully, the Hale pack falls in immediately. The Sheriff eyes the bottle as he wards off two fairies with the body of a third:

“Son, are you sure about…”

But Stiles is already yelling:

“Everybody to the ground!”

Following Scott’s example, who’s curled on himself with hands on his ears, the Hale packs scrambles to the forest floor. Jumping upright, Stiles stands tall above them and, in an impeccable gesture, sends the powder flying in a perfect circle around them before yelling:

“Knock-Out!”

The air ripples with blue waves, concentric circles spreading from the groups with a loud bang, and fairies fall by the hundreds, the pitter-patter of their bodies hitting the ground the only noise in the sudden silence. When it’s done, Isaac whispers:

“Are they dead?”

“Only asleep,” says the Sheriff reassuringly before turning to his son: “That worked better than I expected.”

Stiles himself feels surprised:

“I shouldn’t have had the power to do that.”

Laura squints at him, eyes still blazing red, and asks:

“Are you sure you’re a spark, Stiles?”

The interested party shrugs.

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

Laura hums noncommittally but when Derek elbows her, eyebrows raised in question, she shakes her head no.

“Let’s head back to the house!” she announces. “We better have this alliance signed by the time the fairies wake up, so we can prosecute in case of a second attack.”

Luckily the FLX Authority Official should arrive promptly, and thanks to Stiles’s spell, it should take the fairies some time to regroup.


	17. Chapter 17

When she arrives, the Finger Lakes Authority Official is a fairy. When she realizes Stiles is still alive, her composure wavers, and none of the werewolf miss the pitter-patter of her heartbeat rising. She doesn’t mention anything however and, once introductions are made, conducts her duty in the most professional manner possible. They sit in the dining room, the werewolves and humans on chairs around the table, the fairy on a pile of wooden coasters at one end of the table. Everybody pretends the elephant in the room isn’t there, and they sign the treaty as planned. Once the alliance is enacted in blood and magic, the Official is about to make a quick exit when Laura asks, innocently:

“Oh, and you’ll find your friends asleep by the waterfall. Let them know they should be out of my territory by tonight, or they’ll be fair game for my betas to hunt.”

Said betas shift in a heartbeat, putting on their most fearsome faces, and the fairy’s wings start fluttering like she can’t be out of there fast enough. She stays seated though, and with a sigh, says:

“This is not my family, nor was it my choice to divulge Mister Stilinski’s location. His murder of Princess Aluka, although in self-defense, is still a very sore subject for the Wata family. While their appeal of the Authority’s decision of not-guilty has little chances of success, the fact that his case remains open does place Mister Stilinski in a grey zone where more ancient traditions of vendettas still have some legality.”

The fairy sighs again and rubs her face with a hand, a gesture of deep fatigue Stiles has often seen his Dad do, and it makes her a little more human.

“No reparations have been asked from me at the first trial, he says, but would it help quiet the feud if I were to make some kind of gesture?”

The fairy frowns, her pointy teeth showing, her voice disdainful when she answers:

“Honestly, Mister Stilinski? You should not have to do a thing. Eating humans is illegal, and has been for over three centuries. Aluka Wata died by her own fault, and the Wata family would do well to move out of the Dark Ages and into the 21st century.”

“That’s… Kind of you to say. There weren’t many fairies to take my side during the trial.”

“Those of us fairies with more… progressive views are still a minority. The taste of human flesh, particularly of a magic practitioner like yourself, is a delicacy hard to renounce. But my belief is that, in a few generations, fairies will have mostly forgotten that taste, and that the Authority will have the power to eradicate such practices and to clear the Code of the antiquated pieces of law that put you in such an uncomfortable position. In the meantime, I will carry word to the Wata family that anymore of their antics shall be met with absolute reprobation. They will be gone from your territory soon, Alpha Hale.”

 

Goodbyes warmer than the welcomes were are exchanged, and the Official flies off towards the waterfall, her wings iridescent in the late morning light.

“Well, that was illuminating, says the Sheriff.”

“Who would have known the politics within fairy families was so complex?” comments Isaac.

“Well, it’s hard to ask about their views on the rewriting of the Code when they are trying to eat you alive,” ironizes Stiles.

Scott chuckles, looks at his watch, and says:

“ Well, Alpha Hale, it’s been a delight staying with you this weekend, and I have great hopes for our alliance, but the Sheriff and I have to get going.”

“You’re not staying for lunch?” asks Erica in a disappointed voice.

“Oh right, you wanted to chat with Ms. Morrell!” realizes Stiles.

He’s not quite ready to leave the Hale House, having planned on spending the afternoon playing board games and hanging out with the pack, but his Dad and Scott are dependent on his car to get around.

“We have an appointment at 2pm with her,” confirms the Sheriff.

“We should head for campus too,” says Boyd, “I need to do some research for the aura class.”

Groans from both Erica and Isaac tell clearly enough that they haven’t done their homework yet.

“I’m all done with it,” says Stiles, “but I can help you guys with it. I was planning on doing some extra research anyway.”

It still bugs him very much that the teacher herself couldn’t read his aura, especially with the powerful bit of magic he was able to perform at the waterfall earlier. The more he thinks about it, the less sense it makes: he should have crashed hard after such a strong spell, but he feels nothing more than a bit tired.

“It’s decided then! Let’s go!” Scott claps his hands together and starts overseeing organization for which cars to take, checks that Isaac took the books he needs to study, all the while packing his own overnight bag. Laura and Derek helpfully prepare them some sandwiches in the meantime.

Stiles is ready first, waiting by his 1997 Sydney Blue Subaru Outback. Laura comes around the house from the garden, laughing as yells from inside the house reveals that Erica and Isaac are fighting over whose textbook got stained with beer last night.

“Stiles, do you have a minute?” asks Alpha Hale, as she hands him a bag full of sandwiches and apples.

“Thanks, Laura. What’s up?”

“It’s been great having you around this weekend.”

“Including getting attacked by fairies?”

Laura shrugs:

“About that… Have you ever thought you could be an emissary?”

Stiles frowns:

“I’m already an Emissary for Scott’s pack.”

Laura shakes her head:

“I’m not talking about Emissary as a pack title. It’s more like a specific branch of magic. Like being a druid or a spark. I’m not too sure on the details, as it’s lore I remember from fuzzy childhood stories, but I would look into it. Marin, Ms. Morrell, might know more: she is a druid well versed in human magic.”

Stiles nods and barely has time to thank Laura, less so ask more questions, before Boyd, Erica, and Isaac come tumbling out of the house, followed at a more sedate pace by Scott and Dad. After a short shuffle, Boyd ends up behind the wheel of the silver FJ Cruiser the pack shares, while Scott gracefully lets the Sheriff sit in the front passenger seat of the Subaru. Stiles yells: “Bye Derek!” and embarks as well.

 

Soon enough the all are on their way to campus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a lot of original fiction in the past months, so my fanfictions have been left in a corner to gather dust, but I haven't given up on them! I'll try and pick them up soon, to at least give them completion :)


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles drops his dad and Scott off at Morrell office before hunting down a parking spot, not an easy task on Cornell’s campus, and the reason he takes the bus on week days. By the time he knocks on Morrell’s office door, Scott, the Sheriff and the counselor are already deep in conversation.

“Come in, Stiles,” says Morrell warmly. “I think we’ve identified your father’s colleague as a Hell hound. Quite fascinating!”

“A Hell hound?”

Stiles has heard about quite a lot of supernatural creatures over the years, but this doesn’t ring a bell.

“Well,” says Morrell, “of course Hell isn’t real, it’s just a term coined by humans that are not in the known. They are humans with an immunity for fire, and a level of prescience when it comes to danger coming for nearby supernatural creatures. In our modern time and day, a lot of them knowingly take police, firefighting or EMT jobs to be first on the scene and help the supernatural community stay hidden.”

“A bit like a male banshee,” comments Scott.

Morrell turns to the Alpha:

“This is a decent comparison, but a banshee’s powers encompass regular humans as well, and usually cover a bigger area. They also don’t have the protective instinct Hell hounds possess.”

They chat a bit more about Parish and the implications of his powers’ awakening before Morrell declares:

“But enough on that subject! Stiles, you wanted to chat about yourself as well, right?”

“Yeah…”

Stiles still hasn’t told his Dad anything, though Scott is in the loop.

“Deaton told me I was a spark, so I’ve trained as such with him. In the last year, most of my classes where theoretical, but since the beginning of the semester people have had trouble identifying my aura, despite the fact that my magic ability has grown.”

Morrell hums as her eyes go a bit glassy, and Stiles realizes she’s reading his aura. She then blinks and say:

“You have the typical coloration of a magic user, but the shape is nothing I’ve ever seen. It is also far from faint, I wonder how Anita missed it.”

Stiles shrugs:

“No idea. I could identify everybody else too. Alpha Hale mentioned something about emissaries?”

“Uh. Interesting.”

Morrell gets up and head for her bookshelf, and, after reading a couple spines, pulls one volume out. She sits back at her desk and consults the index before ruffling through the book, an air of concentration and excitement emanating from her.

“Anything good?” asks the Sheriff after a couple minutes of heavy silence.

Morrell makes a “wait a minute” hand movement and consults another section of the heavy tome. Finally, she lifts her eyes up and addresses Stiles:

“Would you say you have grown close to the Hale pack since the beginning of the semester?”

Stiles shrugs:

“I guess so, yeah. Some friends and I train with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. And of course Scott just signed an alliance treaty with them today.”

“Hmm. Maybe you have a deeper bond with any one pack member?”

Derek comes to Stiles mind immediately, but you can scarcely call a non-reciprocated infatuation a deep bond so he clears his throat and says:

“Not really, no. But I’d call any of them a friend.”

Morrell asks again: “When you perform magic, especially more powerful spells, what would you say is the leading emotion that drives you?”

“Terror? It’s usually life and death situations…”

Morrell looks unsatisfied, so Stiles thinks about it a bit more, recalls knocking out the fairies earlier in the day, the panic he felt and the fear that he had condemned the Hale Pack along with his.

“I mean… often my pack, or my friends, are in danger, and… I can’t fail them. That’s when my magic is most powerful.”

“I guess it might be sufficient…”

“Sufficient for what?” asks Scott, his brow creased in concern.

“I think Laura Hale was right. Stiles, it is likely you are a bond-mage.”

“Bond-mage?!” exclaims John.

Morrell gets up and starts pacing her office:

“See, back in the Roman era, there used to be another type of magic users beyond druids, witches, and sparks. Bond-mages, as their name suggests, drew energy from the bonds within a group of individuals. They were often part of vampire pods or werewolf packs, and the exchange of energy relied on mutual trust. They came to play important diplomatic roles in the supernatural world, and created the Emissary system.”

“How come we don’t know about them?” asked Stiles.

Morrell sighed: “According to my book, one of them perfected a method to exploit bonds without it being two ways sometime around 80 BCE. So many bond-mages went dark and drained entire packs of their life energy that shape shifters put bounties on them, and they were eradicated by the time the Roman Empire became Christian.”

“So how come… How could I be one?”

“It’s likely that not all bond-mages were actually killed. Some good ones might have been kept hidden by their pack. Some might have never realized they were more than human, as their magic wouldn’t have manifested for lack energy to draw on, or lack of need to do so.”

“You mean if they weren’t born in a pack?”

“It’s unclear if bond-mages can draw on standard humans as well, but I think if the family unit was big enough they would be able to. But if there never is a need for magic, it just might never happen. I need to investigate further, but it seems like a bond-mage’s talents reveal themselves in times of need for their pack.”

There was a moment of silence as everybody in the room digested the news.

“So… I’ve been flaky and unidentifiable lately because I was far from my pack?” eventually asks Stiles.

“It would make sense. You’ve also been doing it unknowingly, which might weaken the link.”

Morrell reads through more of her book, and adds:

“This mentions some kind of ceremony, a pact you can enter in, performed by a druid, to make that link into a bond. It sounds a bit like the one an Alpha werewolf has with their pack.”

She slips a bookmark inside her heavy tome before shutting it.

“I’ll look for more information and come back to you, Stiles. I’m afraid that for now I have other duties to attend.”

She glances at her watch, and the Sheriff, Scott, and Stiles, after thanking her, file out of her office and head out.

“Are you okay, son?” ask John.

“I’m ok, Dad. Just…” Stiles gestures vaguely, unsure how he feels actually.

“Overwhelmed?”

Stiles sighs, looking at students hurry down and up the hall despite today being a Saturday.

“I guess so.”

“It’s been a long day,” says Scott, “let’s head back to your place.”

 

 

Scott and Stiles are walking ahead, heading back to the car, while the Sheriff is taking in the view, and Scott innocently starts a conversation:

“So… You’ve never been that powerful back in Beacon Hill.”

Stiles grunts, knowing where this is going, but wanting to hear Scott’s take on it. His best friend does not disappoint:

“So… Derek, heh? You didn’t tell me he was a bit more than a crush, Stiles.”

Stiles groans again, agonized this time.

“I don’t know Scott… We haven’t talked about anything. I’ve seen the guy a handful of times. I don’t think… If anything, my new powers are from the proximity of many more powerful magic creatures. I mean, think about it: all my friends at Cornell are some kind of supe. That makes more sense than a tiny one-way crush turning into a full-blown bond.”

Scott chuckles:

“Except it’s not one way, and Derek is a born werewolf with a strong pack. That probably packs a lot of punch in the magical realm.”

“Being a long-standing pack probably… Wait what? What do you mean not one-way?”

“Dude… He took your side when playing Frisbee.”

“It was just a game!”

“He picked you rather than his pack!”

The Sheriff has come closer at the sound of their raised voices, and Scott elbows Stiles before furiously whispering:

“He’s totally sweet on you, trust me,” before they change the subject to the latest video games they’ve been playing.


	19. Chapter 19

Classes soon become crazy, and Thanksgiving comes and goes in the blink of an eye: Stiles flies home for a week, spends some quality time with his dad, Scott and the whole pack, and comes back to Cornell ready to kick ass for midterms. He spends long nights at the library, rushing through finishing papers, and is immensely proud of the fact that, ADD be damned, he manages to hand in every single one of them on time.

The magical classes are going better too. His aura has steadily become clearer since the pact, and Anita is delighted at the idea that she has a one-of-a-kind magic practitioner to scrutinize. Stiles has been making a lot of progress himself, and he can now tell small nuances like a wolf’s rank or a banshee’s range just by reading off their aura.

Without surprise, Lydia’s territory will probably include all of the Finger Lakes once she fully enters maturity.

As it is, she has already been working with Laura to stop crimes in process, which Stiles finds both badass and extremely heavy – to feel it in your bones every time somebody is assaulted, or endangered? He can feel the burden in the way Lydia’s aura has been wavering, but he is thankful for the opportunity to help her with it: since he has manifested as a more powerful mage than everybody thought, she has been a lot friendlier, and a lifetime of having a father on the force has made Stiles a ready source of good advice, as well as the perfect shoulder to lean on for Lydia. The fact that Stiles does not harbor any kind of physical attraction for her anymore seems to have helped – Lydia guessed around the second fighting lesson where Derek and Laura joined Braeden in teaching them that Stiles has something for Derek.

Every other week, the two werewolves, sometimes accompanied by the other betas, come to help teach class, and Stiles awaits it with trepidation. His guts start knotting itself with a mix of impatience and dread as soon as he wakes up on those Friday mornings. Impatience, because this is the one day he is sure to see Derek – though he hangs out regularly with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, they usually elect to go out to cafés, work together at the library, or meet up at the gym for some extra training. Dread, because he is not sure what is going on with the werewolf, despite Scott’s certitudes. They often chat after the class, have even gone out for a cup of coffee a couple times, but while the conversation flows easily, they have kept to safe subjects: exchanging anecdotes about working on the force, jokes about the never-ending Ithaca winters and the next storm scheduled to come through, opinions about Stiles’ curriculum. Derek seems to like him enough, Stiles think, or he would decline the opportunity for those chats when they come up, but he might also not like him more than as a friend. Stiles even stooped low enough to ask Erica about it, but she had refused to confirm one way or the other, stating in an uncharacteristic way that “it wasn’t her business, and he needed to talk to Derek.”

 

So when Friday comes, at the end of a long week of midterms, Stiles is a mess. He hasn’t slept properly since Tuesday, isn’t sure when his last shower was, and has the energy level of a baby panda. He is not ready for any kind of hand-to-hand combat, let alone if Derek is going to be around. For the first time since they met, he kind of hopes him and Laura won’t be here today to help the class.

“Wow, you look like shit, bro, you okay?”

That’s Ethan, greeting him at they change in the locker room.

“Midterms,” he just answers, and the werewolf groans empathetically.

When they enter the gymnasium, Braeden is talking with Laura and Derek, and Stiles stomach makes its usual somersault, with a side of panic because he looks half-dead and will likely get crushed today, with how tired he is, and it’s not something he wants Derek to be present for.

He’s not sure if it’s his smell or heart rate that gave him out, but both Laura’s and Derek’s gazes zero in on him as soon as he enters the room, and Derek raises a curious eyebrow. Stiles waves his concern away, before joining Danny and Kira, who are already warming up and stretching.

“Are you ok, Stiles?” asks Kira.

She looks a bit tired herself, as most students do right now. Stiles sighs – is nobody going to leave him alone?

“Just tired from midterms. Haven’t slept much.”

“It’s the Adderall and caffeine, you really shouldn’t combine those,” comments Danny.

“Well, I’m alive, and I handed in all my papers, and I sat on all my exams, so it was worth it.”

The other two sense his grumbliness and stop pressing him, and they spar half-heartedly while waiting for the class to start.

Braeden must have noticed her students – even the tougher supes – are running a bit ragged, because she has them practicing stances and moves rather than doing free combat. Laura and Derek stick to helping the shape-shifters with their moves, while Braeden helps the other students, and Stiles is glad for it, as it keeps Derek apart from his group. Stiles will feel better in two weeks, and maybe then he will invite Derek out for coffee, and maybe he will be brave enough to ask him on a date. In two weeks.

But of course, as Stiles has decided that he was safe today from interaction with his crush, Braeden announces that she will have a few people fight Laura, Derek, and herself s she can evaluate their progress since the first lesson. People groan and grumble, saying that’s unfair, that they just got out of midterms, but Braeden answers:

“And you thought you wouldn’t have a midterm in my class to? Tssk. This is actually the perfect time to test you – when you are tired, distracted, prone to errors. Chance is, assailants won’t wait for you to be fresh and rested before attacking. Aiden, you’re up first against me, Ethan with Derek, Jackson with Laura.”

The fighting goes along the same lines as that first lesson: every single student hits the mat, sooner than later. However, Stiles recognizes that most people made progress, and last a bit longer.

When Kira’s turn comes, she is fighting Derek, while Braeden evaluates Stiles. Stiles tries, he does, but he still cleans the mat shamefully early, distracted by Kira and Derek’s fight going on alongside them, and made extra slow by the caffeine and Adderall withdrawal. Braeden is offering him a hand to stand up when there’s a sudden buzz, and Stiles is hit by a smell of ozone. He turns just in time to see Kira’s fox blooming around her, electricity dancing on her skin, as Derek is maneuvering her into a hold. Stiles understands a fraction of a second before everybody else what’s happening: Kira’s powers are lashing out to defend her, and in her tiredness she can’t keep them in check. Derek is already getting zapped, yelping in pain.

Stiles shouts, reaching for Derek, and it’s like things are happening too fast and too slow all at once: startled by the yell and the shock, Derek let’s go of Kira, who tumbles and starts falling, directly in Stiles arms, as her power fully lashes out. Stiles doesn’t have a choice but too catch her, and he sees the fear in her eyes as their bodies collide and they fall to their knees.

There’s a collective gasp as the whole class turns to them, understanding what is going on.

Electricity jumps over to Stiles, and he cries out – at first the pain is unbearable, every nerve live with it, but suddenly he feels his own magic rise, mingle, embrace, and the pain becomes this incredible rush of power, a tingling that covers his arms and legs with goose bumps, and he hugs Kira closer.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to her.

Kira’s electricity fizzles out as she wrangles the fox down, and she starts crying, hugging Stiles back, apologies garbled by the heaving sobs that wrack her body.

“Stiles… I’m so… so… sorry… I don’t know… the kitsune… what happened?”

Stiles shushes her, rocking her a bit, unable to answer for sure. Braeden, Laura and Derek are coming closer, weary of the last sparks arcing in the air around them, and Stiles shakes his head no, unsure what would happen if they get within reach of the power churning inside him. They get the hint and leave them space, keeping the rest of the students from crowding them.

“I was so afraid… are you hurt? You’re… you’re shining,” says Kira, a bit calmer.

Stiles looks down at himself, and she’s right, there’s a reddish aura to him when he squints that he was pretty sure wasn’t there before. The tingling has receded, but Stiles still feels energized.

“I think I absorbed some of your power. Honestly, it feels amazing. Best midterm pick-me-up ever.”

Kira chuckles weakly, and they help each other get up, separating once standing with a loud crack of lightning.

Finally Braeden approaches them:

“Are you ok, Stiles?

“I’m… I’m good. No harm done.”

“Kira?”

“I feel tired, but nothing bad.”

Their instructor hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe you should go to Ms Morrell’s office, just in case she has an idea what happened.”

“I’m heading there this afternoon anyway,” says Stiles, and his teacher nods, satisfied. Ms Morrell and Stiles have a weekly appointment: they have been working their way through ancient texts and vague mentions of bond-mages, a slow and painful work of translation and guesswork.

Braeden claps her hands and says:

“Ok everybody, let’s get the rest of the class going! Kira, Derek, Stiles, you three can head out, I think you had enough for today.”

They step out while the class starts again, and after Kira enters the women’s locker room, Stiles asks Derek:

“Are you ok?”

His werewolf healing probably took care of the zap he received, but still.

“I’m good! I should be asking you that.”

They stop by the door to the men’s locker room, and Stiles takes a moment before answering.

“It hurt at first, but then… it’s like my magic just absorbed Kira’s power. Honestly I feel better now than before the class.”

Derek chuckles and raises a hand to Stiles’ face, gently grazing his cheekbone with his thumb before letting his hand fall back down.

“You do look better – no more bags under your eyes.”

Stiles is gob smacked, the impromptu touching wholly unexpected. Now that he thinks about it, Derek is awfully close, crowding him to the wall.

“Are you… Are you going all wolfy touchy-feely on me, Derek?”

The were steps back, a blush high on his cheeks, and Stiles can’t help crowing in victory, opening his arms as he taunts:

“You are! You totally want to hug me and check me for pain!”

Derek blushes harder but steps closer, until he can wrap himself around Stiles, a hand at his neck and the other around his waist. Stiles splutters, not having expected Derek to actually take him up on it, but hugs back after a second, giving in to the hug though his heart starts beating double time.

Derek rumbles, a low and calming sound, and moves the hand on Stiles’s neck down to his chest, where the tattoo only gets faster.

“Relax, Stiles.”

“Easy to say, your crush’s not hugging you.”

Stiles stiffens when he realizes what he just said, and yep, that’s typical him right there, his mouth, running away from him in the least appropriate moment. Derek, though, gets even closer, and just states:

“Well, he would, if he were to relax.”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Stiles to figure it out, but when he does his guts bloom with a thousand sparks, and he just says “oh” before hugging the shit out of Derek, who just nuzzles into his neck.

           They stay like that a moment, and Stiles enjoys the quiet, despite the thousand thoughts racing through his mind. When Derek eventually pulls away, he puts a hand back on Stiles’ heart, which is still beating double time. He seems to be about to comment, but Stiles beats him to it:

“I know, I should relax, but well… It’s been an eventful day.”

Stiles feels awkward, and while he is thrilled at the perspective of some kissing and making out, doesn’t know how to ask for it. He’s about to blurt something, anything, when Derek offers:

“Coffee?”

“I… Yes, that’d be nice. But erm… at my place?”

The pleased smile on Derek’s face, and the heat in his gaze, are answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, folks! We'll be earning that mature rating next chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's our last chapter! Thank you folks for following this story.  
> This work is un-betaed, so I appreciate all and any kind of feedback.  
> Cheers, and enjoy ;)

Once Stiles is changed, they catch a 30 back to downtown, and the bus is crowded with students despite the odd hour – 11am on a Friday. They chat a bit, about innocuous subjects, and stay silent the rest of the time. They walk fast across the Commons, Stiles guiding the way to his apartment building, feeling like everybody else on the street must know why they are hurrying so. He glances at Derek when they get to the front door, and the werewolf looks unfairly unruffled, though the way he puts a hand to Stiles back, urging him forward, has none of his usual patience.

            The elevator has never taken so long to get to the 4th floor.

            Stiles fumbles with his keys, and when he eventually gets them into his flat, Derek doesn’t leave him time to ask about making coffee: the were politely closes the door behind him, before grabbing Stiles by his coat’s lapels, bringing him close, and kissing him soundly. Stiles tosses his keys in the general direction of the bowl he keeps on top of his shoe rack, and grabs Derek back, throwing himself into the kiss with three months’ worth of want. It’s impatient, heady, and Stiles knows he’s going to get stubble burn on his own shaved face from Derek’s scruff. He can’t find it in him to mind.

Derek is already pushing them both past the kitchen, towards the main room of the studio, which is both the living room and bedroom, when Stiles wrangles them apart and suggests, out of breath and laughing:

“Let’s take our shoes off, yes? I have carpet, and well… they need to come off anyway.”

“ _Everything_ needs to come off,” approves Derek, gesturing at Stiles’ many layers, as he gets to work on his own shoes.

“Agreed. Race you to the bed?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

It’s a challenge Stiles is happy to loose – Derek, despite the cold, is only wearing a sweater, and by the time Stiles makes it to the main room, Star Wars boxers his last piece of clothing still on, Derek is lying fully naked on his bed.

“Wow.”

Derek bites his lip, embarrassed, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“Just… One second.”

Stiles heads for the floor to ceiling windows and pulls the blinds down, though he doesn’t close them – he want to be able to see Derek in all his naked glory.

“Now, where were we…”

“You were about to take off those horrendous boxers?”

“Hey, what do you have against Yoda?”

Derek sits up, his hardening cock bouncing, and Stiles already

“Nothing, but he’s blocking access to…”

Derek seems not to be able to finish, and Stiles is endeared that a man so obviously attractive can still have trouble with sex.

“My dick?” finishes Stiles.

Derek nods, his blush deepening, and Stiles takes the offending boxers off before joining him on the bed, lying on his side next to the were, suddenly awed to be there.

“I… Derek…”

The werewolf shushes Stiles and takes his hand, placing it on his body, encouraging Stiles to touch him.

“Let’s… Let’s talk later, ok? I’ve ben wanting this a while,” Derek says.

“I… Yes, ok, me too,” agrees Stiles, all eloquence having left him.

Since his hand is already there, Stiles start tracing the shape of Derek’s body, the way his legs give way to his hips, then to the smooth skin of his sides, were the ribs are barely felt bumps on the way to his armpit, at which point Derek squirms, ticklish, and Stiles reroutes to the were’s chest. Derek is unsurprisingly hairy, more so than Stiles, from his strong legs to his shoulders, where stray, scarce hairs randomly pop up. Stiles exploration is venturing South, to the hard cock resting heavy on Derek’s stomach, when the werewolf props himself to his side, coming closer to Stiles, starting on some caressing of his own as their lips find each other.

After a moment, Stiles rolls to his back, pulling Derek on top of him, and they both grunt when their bodies align, Derek’s knees having found purchase on the bed as Stiles wrapped his legs around his waist. Derek gets his hips rolling, the friction of their cocks against each other and against their stomachs pleasant, but not quite enough. Wriggling under Derek, Stiles reaches out for the bedside drawer, and fumbles blindly for the lube he keeps their until Derek picks it up himself, dropping it in Stiles hand before leaning back down, elbows on the mattress, dropping kisses to Stiles jaw, neck, and collarbones. Stiles struggles a bit more with the lid, unable to see what he’s doing and thoroughly distracted by the kissing and friction Derek keeps going on, but eventually he manages to sneak a lubed hand between their bodies, wrapping his long fingers around both their dicks, transforming the sensation from not enough to perfect bliss. Derek’s muscles are rippling as he moves his hips still, in a slow thrust that complements Stiles’ hand motion on their cocks.

Stiles feels his orgasm approach, and it is sooner than he would like, but he is already unable to stop it. His moaned warning is met by Derek’s wordless sounds of encouragement, and he comes all over his hand and chest. Still panting, Stiles unhooks his legs from around Derek’s body to lay them on the bed. There’s a bit of shuffling, until Derek is kneeling over Stiles. They kiss idly for a while, Derek nipping at Stiles neck, and Stiles uses his clean hand to touch as much of Derek’s broad back and firm buttocks he can reach. Derek is rumbling low in his throat, his cock still hard and red, and by then Stiles has recuperated enough that he brings his wet hand back to Derek’s cock, his come and the leftover lube easing the way as Stiles gets a long, firm stroke going, wanking Derek until he’s panting and hiding his face in Stiles shoulder, his hips snapping irregularly. Stiles is marveling at how Derek trusts him with making him feel good, and something warm and happy blooming in his guts, making him a little teary. He fights the feeling, quickening his strokes on Derek’s cock, grasping his ass harder with his other hand, but the were probably still can tell something’s off because he whines, a bit unhappy, and forces his hips still. Stiles pauses and whispers:

“I’m okay, just… very happy.”

Derek pushes himself up, his arms trembling a bit, and looks into Stiles face, checking him over, but Stiles knows his heartbeat, though made faster by the admission, is steady and true. Derek smiles, a full on grin that shows off his dimples and his bunny teeth, and Stiles smiles back, not caring anymore that it makes tears roll down his cheeks. Stiles starts working on Derek’s dick again, picking up the pace once more, the drying mess on his hand adding an edge to the friction, and cranes his neck up to kiss Derek, who leans down to meet him, suddenly rough and needy, licking into his mouth until they both go out of breath. When Derek moves back, moans and grunts spilling out of his mouth, his eyes are shining bright blue, and his features are oscillating as he fights the change, a glint of fangs pushing at his mouth.

“You can let go, big guy, come on, show me,” Stiles encourages him, and Derek arches back, crying out as he fully beta-shifts and spills all over Stiles’ hand and stomach. Stiles dick twitches at the sight, the pure abandon and pleasure etched on Derek’s face and body, and he blurts:

“Fuck, that’s hot. Derek…”

The werewolf meets his eyes, and Stiles is reaching out to his face, where his eyebrows have mysteriously disappeared, but Derek then drops heavy on top of Stiles, uncaring about spreading the half-dried and fresh nastiness all over himself as he snuggles in close, slurring between his fangs in Stiles ear:

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“As long as it’s death by orgasm…”

Derek huffs a laugh, and wiggles until he’s half on the mattress, half on Stiles, his weight comfortable rather than smothering. They stay close for a while, satiated, breathing deep. Stiles is starting to feel drowsy, whatever boost he got from Kira starting to ebb and the underlying exhaustion coming to the surface and combining with the endorphins and Derek’s body heat.

“Derek, we gotta clean up before I fall asleep.”

The werewolf grunts in agreement, and slowly rolls off Stiles, his features returning to human as he sits back on the bed. He’s got the best bed hair, one side fluffy where Stiles messed it up, the other flattened by lying on the bed.

They shuffle into the bathroom, sacrificing one of Stiles’ face towels to clean themselves up of all the stickiness. Derek is eying his clothes by the time Stiles is done and back in the bedroom, but Stiles won’t have it, and he dives on the werewolf, who goes easy enough, letting the human push him on the bed. Stiles maneuvers them under the duvet, making Derek the big spoon, and the werewolf obliges, slotting himself to Stiles back and putting an arm over his waist.

“Aren’t you meeting with Ms Morrell this afternoon?” reminds Derek.

Stiles groan, reaching blindly for his phone, and looking at the time.

“I’ll set an alarm. But nap first.”

“Nap first,” agrees Derek, petting Stiles’ hair as the young man dozes off.

“Hey Derek…”

“Hmm?”

“Are we boyfriends now?”

Derek is silent a moment, and Stiles is feeling very awake suddenly, his heart going into overdrive, but the were just spreads a hand over Stiles’ heart, asking:

“Do you want to be?”

Stiles doesn’t hesitate:

“I do. I want to date the heck out of you.”

Derek sighs, stiff against Stiles’ back:

“Oh, good, yeah, we’re boyfriends then. But err, there’s… There’s stuff we need to talk about though… I don’t do dating lightly and, err… I come with err, baggage.”

Stiles sighs, and turns around so he can face Derek, who’s curled up on himself, and takes his head in his hands.

“Hey, look at me.”

Derek wearily locks eyes with Stiles, who says:

“I know.”

Derek is shaking his head, eyes darting away, opening his mouth, but Stiles gently puts a finger to shush him:

“No, really, Derek. I know. Kate Argent has the bad habit to gloat when she thinks she’s about to kill you.”

Derek beta shifts so fast that Stiles can’t control the way his magic flares up in defense and before he knows it, they are both floating in the air, Derek snarling and panicked and Stiles eyes fully black, the part of him that will always be marked by the nogitsune taking over. It takes a full minute for Stiles to reign himself in, and by then Derek is human again, having given up struggling against the force field, looking at Stiles with a mix of awe and fear. Stiles gently drops them both to the bed, and pulls in the magic, tucking away the terror and the anger, breathing deep for another minute, sitting naked and crossed legged on his bed.

When he opens his eyes, feeling in control again, Derek has mimicked his position, facing him and observing him.

“I think it’s fair to say I a) did not think this through when I mentioned her, and b) I come with my own, how did you put it, baggage?”

Derek chuckles weakly:

“That was… kinda great actually.”

“I’m sorry for… wait what?”

Derek smiles, a bit more assured now:

“That stuff will happen again. There’s only so much therapy I can do, and PTSD runs deeper in wolves. Knowing that… that I can’t hurt you easily is… this is the best I could hope for.”

“Are you mad! I could have hurt _you_ , Derek.”

There’s something a bit savage, and a bit frightening in Derek’s eyes when he answers:

“The restraint felt pretty good actually, once I stopped panicking. Your magic is… it feels good.”

Stiles isn’t sure what face he makes as images of Derek at his mercy, magically restrained and getting off on it, getting off on submitting to measly, human Stiles course his mind, but it has Derek laugh openly, and obnoxiously scenting the air, enjoying the way Stiles’ arousal is filling up the space between them, how there’s no way to miss, naked as they are, the interest both their cocks are suddenly taking to the conversation, despite their recent tryst.

“How the fuck… Derek, you can’t just say things like that while you’re naked on my bed. Not after I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t. You could have, but even in an unthinking reflex, you didn’t.”

Stiles is silent, pondering, still unsure how to feel about all of it, but Derek just lies back down, moving to be under the duvet, and patting the space next to himself:

“Come on, let’s nap first, we will have time to figure this out later.”

Who’s Stiles to say no to a naked, relaxed Derek beckoning him? Stiles crawls into bed, and this time Derek makes Stiles the big spoon. Despite the morning’s emotions – and it still is barely noon – Stiles ends up relaxing and falling asleep, holding on to Derek’s body, and if he grins as he does so, well, nobody will ever know, right?


End file.
